The Ultimate Ace
by WingedFreedom622
Summary: Four years after ISAF crushes Erusia, Mobius 1, the legendary ace who helped bring the war to a close disappears. Now, a year later, the CircumPacific War starts… Crossover with ACE 04 and 5 with references to Zero. NO LONGER ON HIATUS! CHAPTER 24 UP!
1. The beginning

Disclaimer: I own nothing, make no money etc.

Summary: four years after ISAF crushes Erusia, Mobius 1, the legendary ace who helped bring the war to a close disappears. Now the Circum-Pacific War starts…

The Ultimate Ace 

September of 2004: The ISAF and Erusian Continental War heats up

September of 2005: The war is brought to an end by the legendary Mobius 1.

June of 2008: Mobius 1, for reasons unknown, drops from view. Rumors have his whereabouts some where in the country of Osea across the sea but these are unconfirmed.

Present day: Wardog squadron is on an intercept mission to force an unknown spy plane to land…..

The voice of the orbiting AWACS aircraft cut through the droning 'whoosh' of the tiny fighter's air conditioning,

"Attention Wardog Squadron, unknown enemy is a your twelve o'clock, altitude Angels 20." The pilot of the tiny F-5E Tiger shifted in his seat the best he could, restrained as he was by the harness holding him tightly to his ejection seat.

He listened with half an ear as his flight lead, Capt. Jack Bartlett, responded to the AWACS call, "Rodger that AWACS. OK Wardog listen up, We are to intercept this guy as he tries to exit our airspace. Bad news is it's an SR-71." The pilot of the F-5 groaned. They would never catch the fast bastard in these things, "Good news is somehow our guys managed to peg him with a SAM."

The pilot felt astonishment ripple through him and he just had to ask the question burning on his lips, "How the hell did they manage that?"

"Good question Wardog 4." Bartlett replied, "Guess the pilot musta been asleep or something." Wardog 4, a pilot by name of Brian Forrest, privately agreed. The man was in his late twenties and there was way more to him than his rather ordinary appearance would suggest. Though he was billed as a nugget in the Osean Air Defense Force, he was, in fact, the legendary ace who destroyed Stonehenge, the feared superweapon of the Erusian military, five years ago. The man had been just twenty-one then, now at twenty-six, his already formidable skills had matured to truly frightening proportions. Few knew where the amazing ace had gone when he had resigned his commission with ISAF and just disappeared. Most thought Forrest had died in a plane crash or something. Only Brian and a select few within the ISAF government knew the true story.

After being harassed by the media and greedy senators and other assorted politicians he just couldn't take it anymore. So Maj. General Brian Forrest packed his bags and moved to Osea. He had fully intended to spend the rest of his life living in the blessed solitude. He was famous through the world as Mobius 1, but Brian Forrest was just your average guy. The international press had never gotten a photo of his real face. This was due to the fact that Mobius 1 never took of his helmet in their presence. Heck, he never even raised his visor to any press ever. How the local news hounds had gotten an image of his face was beyond him, but they had and Brian had never known a moment's peace since.

But, as that old military axiom said, "a plan never survives first contact with the enemy." This had rung true for General Forrest as well. Well, maybe not general anymore. Now he was Second Lieutenant Brian Forrest, a nugget with the OADF. Flying a fighter proved to be too addictive to just leave behind and he had signed on to the OADF after months of dead-end jobs. He had been very careful to hide his skills during flight training even if he desperately wanted to cut loose on some of the more arrogant cadets who all seemed to come from the Officer Training program that Osea ran in most of its colleges. Those fools wouldn't last two minutes in combat with that attitude, especially against someone like Yellow Thirteen or him.

"Wardog 4, hellloooo? You awake back there? You better be marking our tail son." Forrest jerked in his seat as Bartlett's annoyed voice cut through his thoughts.

Shaking his helmeted and masked head, Forrest keyed his mike, "Yes sir. I'm still here. Oh, and your six is clear."

"Good. At least you're confident." Came the gruff voice. Brian glared through his visor at the green and brown camouflaged F-4 that his flight lead was driving.

"Man, I'm glad you drew the short straw instead of me!" Chopper said brightly. The nugget was also in an F-5. Not that that said much, all of the trainees were in F-5s. They were the standard jet for ACM, Air Combat Manuvering, that the trainees had been practicing prior to this impromptu mission.

AWACS broke in with a stern "Cut the chatter," then the controller, callsign Thunderhead, started to issue more orders, "Wardog, continue on current course to intercept. Weapons safe." Forrest suppressed a sigh. Weapons safe meant do not fire until ordered. Generally regarded by most pilots as a death sentence. Oh well, orders were orders, so he reached forward and flipped off the Master Arm switch on the panel in front of him. Now, even if he pulled the trigger, nothing would happen.

"Rodger that Thunderhead," came from the plane to Brian's left. That was Kei Nagase, an Oriental looking female pilot, "Weapons safe until further orders." Right as the woman nugget said that, the former Mobius 1's keen vision spotted a rapidly moving black speck in the distance.

"Wardog 4 tallyho, bearing twelve o'clock low." Forrest stated crisply. The bogey was on their nose and about five hundred feet lower than the four-ship formation. The deadly ace felt the adrenalin begin to surge through his system. He clamped down of the feeling before it made him betray something he didn't want known. Bartlett came up on the radio and told them to go. The flight banked as one and rolled out right behind the crippled SR-71. As Bartlett and Chopper argued over who would send the surrender request, Forrest banked again and slid into position off Chopper's wing. The new position would allow him to get off a missile shot if that was necessary. His other position would've resulted in him shooting down his flight lead. And, knowing Bartlett, Forrest would never hear the end of it.

As Brian listened to Chopper's rather weak surrender order, the ace scanned the skies around them. A useless action, seeing as they were still in Osean airspace, but Forrest had spent so much time in hostile skies that he just couldn't quit doing it, even in peacetime. "Negative on the landing gear," Forrest said as he dipped down to check the 71's underbelly, "guess he's not gonna surrender."

"Big surprise there Wardog 4," Bartlett said, "did you really expect him to?"

"Not really," the other pilot replied, "I wouldn't have done it." That was true. He would have turned around and slaughtered the enemy squadron behind him. Mobius 1 wouldn't ever be caught dead flying a recon mission unarmed. Later, during another mission, Forrest would look back at that thought and want to kill something.

"You and me both Kid," Bartlett answered. Brian smiled behind his mask. Despite whatever his thoughts might say otherwise, he really did like the gruff old flight lead. He had seen him in action once on the news.

Fifteen years ago, Brian had been in high school in Commonwealth, a small suburb of Comberth Harbor on the southern shore of the Usean continent. He had seen the footage of the mad aerial battle in the Round Table. The young Forrest had been fascinated by the grace and precision of the fabulous war machines. Especially two F-15 Eagles who had just devastated the opposition. The news anchor had identified them as Galm 1 and 2, two mercenaries who had been serving the country of Ustio after their air force had be decimated. Brian had also noticed an F-14 that wasn't doing too bad either. That one had been identified as Heartbreak 1, who the former Mobius 1 was now flying with. Forrest had decided right then that he was going to join ISAF and become the best pilot he could. Who would have guessed that he would end up being _the_ best?

"Enemy aircraft identified bearing 280 altitude 6000. Hold fire until further orders." The radio blared again, jolting the fourth Wardog from his thoughts once again. He silently berated himself for losing his focus for a second time. If he kept doing that, he might kill himself or, even worse, one of his squadron mates.

"Crossing the pond to fly cover for their spy plane huh? Now there's a fighter pilot worth his wings," Bartlett stated. Brian wasn't so sure. Who in their right mind would risk a war by overflying a superpower and then sending fighters into a sovereign nation's airspace, especially a superpower like Osea?

"Wardog 4 to Wardog 1," Forrest called, "Isn't it weird what's going on?"

"Just a little strange Kid," the older man replied, "but it's not our place to ask questions." Brian scowled behind his mask and visor. Who would do something so stupid? Not the Erusians. He knew that. Their economy was in shambles after ISAF had gotten through with them and they were on the other side of the ocean. His radar bleeped a warning at him. Forrest glanced down at it and saw four contacts about thirty miles away from them. The four bogeys continued to fly at them head on. Forrest decided he wasn't gonna be caught by four, possibly hostile, planes with his thumb up his ass. A deft flick sent the Master Arm from SAFE to ARM. Now he was live again and ready to take one of the four fools out in an instant.

"I-I can see them," Chopper stuttered, the nervousness clear in his voice.

"Rodger," Edge, Nagase, replied. Her voice was accompanied by heavy breathing. Even though she had been the only surviving trainee from the bounce a couple of days ago, she now had time to think about her predicament. That was a real good way to raise the pucker factor.

Brian, TAC name Blaze, squinted and spotted four dim specks, "Wardog 4, tallyho. Four bogeys confirmed off our nose, altitude 6000." In contrast with the other two, his voice was calm and collected. He had done this hundreds of times before. Now would be no different.

"Copy Wardog 4," Thunderhead replied, "Continue on current course."

"Rodger." That was from Bartlett. Now the two opposing groups were within Sidewinder range. Brian's instincts screamed at him to break. He trusted it, ramming the throttle to full afterburner and pulling as hard as he could on the stick. His F-5 responded instantly. He was shoved into his seat from both the sudden acceleration and the g's applied to his body by the violent pull. Forrest got out of the way just in time because four AIM-9Ls and tracer rounds singed the space he had just been occupying. Ignoring the startled cries from the two nuggets below, he rolled onto his back at the top of his climb and pulled again. The Split-S took him right onto one of the bandit's tail. Forrest was able to identify the jinking enemy as an older MiG-21.

"Hold your fire," came from Thunderhead. Brian wanted to rage at Thunderhead to clear them to shoot, but Chopper did it for him,

"Oh come on! Those aren't blanks they're firing out there!"

"Shut your mouth and fire back!" Bartlett yelled as he sped past a MiG on a high speed 'slash-and-dash', using the F-4s weight and brute engine strength to his advantage.

"Rodger that! Blaze engage!" Forrest yelled, pulling the trigger for his twin cannons, the pipper right on the MiG attempting to evade him. The guns came to life with a loud 'braaawwww' and twin tongues of flame and smoke appeared on the lower part of his canopy. The angry red tracers reached out and seemed to caress the MiG in deceptively gentle and harmless looking touch. A tracer struck the fighter's delta wing and the small fighter blew up in a spectacular orange and red fireball. The ace banked and loaded the g's onto his fighter, broadcasting the call 'Splash One' to let everyone know that there were now three enemy fighters.

"AH! Damn! Get him off my tail!" Chopper yelled. Brian's head whipped around and found his comrade in deep shit. A green MiG was just yards behind him and pulling lead, trying to get Chopper in his pipper.

"Chopper! Break right!" Forrest screamed at him, "Get him in front of me! I can nail him!" Chopper didn't seem to understand. Forrest knew what was going on. Chopper was so afraid of having an enemy on his tail, scared of dying, that he couldn't remember anything about what to do.

'Damnit! I gotta get to him!' pounded through the former ISAF ace's head. He reversed his turn, grunting to try and keep the blood in his head. His vision grayed from the g's despite his and his g-suit's best efforts, time slowed down to a snail's pace. Forrest could see all the details on the MiG ahead and above of him. The sun glinted off the glass of the canopy, the seeker head of the Sidewinder slung underneath the wing and he could see the brilliantly orange afterburner flame flickering as the hunter pilot tried to take out Chopper. He flicked a switch on his throttle, blessing HOTAS as he did. Without it he couldn't switch from guns to missiles in time. The HUD in front of him had a diamond moving across it, the Sidewinder's IR seeker on his wingtip looking for a hot target.

Brian wished it would hurry up. The diamond merged with the target box around the MiG-21 and turned red. At the same time a loud growling tone blared through his headset, telling him the missile was locked and tracking. He pressed the little red button on top of his stick. Time sped back up and a white and orange blur streaked into his vision from his left and sped across to the right. The AIM-9X was tracking beautifully, pulling lead on the enemy in front of him, following his prey's turn so it could deliver its deadly payload. A split second later and the MiG vanished in a large explosion when the missile found it.

"This is Blaze, scratch one more MiG," Forrest grunted as he reversed again, pumping out flares and chaff to try and spoof any missile that might have been launched against _him_.

"Thanks Kid!" Chopper said as he rolled away and joined up with Bartlett.

"Next time keep your head on a swivel," Forrest grumbled. He didn't really mind his teammates, but working with inexperienced nuggets meant that he had generally had to work twice as hard to keep their asses in the sky…"BLAZE! BREAK!" Edge's panicked voice brought him to back to the task at hand. In his inattention, he had not eased his turn and that meant there were still g's on the plane which, in turn, meant he was slower than he should have been. A bad combination that screamed 'hey kill me!' Of course a bandit would have capitalized on it, recognizing an easy kill. At that moment, his missile alarm started beeping at him. Time slowed down for a second time, his flight members were screaming at him, garbled, meaningless, noises faded by both the alarm and his own deafness, brought on by his intense focus on the task at hand: evading the speeding death behind him. Another millisecond passed and he rolled onto his back for a second time and pulled again, letting go countermeasures as he did to spoof the missile. This time, though, instead of following through and reversing course, he delayed his pull for what seemed like several hours, even though it was only a couple of seconds. Then he pulled through and kept it, doing a bastardized version of a loop.

The maneuver brought him up on his opponent's six o'clock. Now he was the hunter and the idiot who tried to get an easy kill was his prey. The stunt he had pulled to get on the MiG's tail had put Forrest outside of Sidewinder range. Mobius 1 smiled grimly as he shifted weapons again, going from Sidewinders to Sparrow missiles. A ring appeared on the HUD and surrounded the target designator box that showed the MiG. 'This is your own fault,' Forrest thought as he shook his head, 'trying to shoot down Mobius 1…stupid.' He pressed the pickle button and the Sparrow lanced from the pylon under his wing and blazed a smoke trail across the sky to the ill-fated fighter. He kept the doomed sucker in his radar's ring so the Sparrow would keep track.

"Wow Blaze!" Edge exclaimed when yet another MiG became a fireball, "That's three kills!"

"And only one for me," Bartlett grumped as he popped up off to Blaze's left, "If I'm not careful you're gonna upstage me Kid."

Brian laughed, "I doubt it sir," he replied modestly, "You're to stubborn to let me do it." He chuckled again, this time at the knowledge that he probably had as many, if not more, kills than Heartbreak 1.

"Well you still have three up on Edge and me," Chopper broke in, "I owe you though. You saved my ass back there."

"Alright cut the chatter," Thunderhead said for what must have been the millionth time that mission. His exasperation showed in his voice, even over the radio, "HQ wants you four to RTB and Capt. Bartlett to report to the Colonel's office." Bartlett's groan was the only response as they formed up and banked away, heading back to their base at Sand Island.

Several hours later, the members of the Wardog flight that had, against orders, shot down several enemy aircraft were informed that the kills the Captain and Blaze had racked up were to be stricken from existence.

"Man, that really sucks!" Chopper yelled to the open air outside one of the maintenance hangars. Brian sighed at his loudmouthed comrade's outburst,

"Relax Chopper," he said, "it's not the end of the world."

"Are you kidding me?!" the other cried, rounding on him, "You should be pissed off too. You were only two kills away from making ace!"

'If only you knew pal,' Forrest thought but instead answered with, "It's no big deal," Chopper snorted and Brian continued, "Seriously. Kills aren't everything."

"Yeah but you would have been the first ace since that Belkan war fifteen years ago," said a new voice from behind them. The duo turned and saw Edge coming up behind them, "Don't you want that kind of recognition?" she asked.

"Not really," Brian answered truthfully, after all, that fame had been the reason he had left ISAF in the first place, "I kind of like my peace. Famous people get in trouble too much."

Chopper snickered, "Yeah, just look at the Captain man." The other two pilots smiled at the remark. Their IP did seem to get in more than his fair share of trouble.

"I was gonna head over to the chow hall to get dinner," Edge said, "You two want to come?" Chopper agreed, but Forrest declined, claiming that he had already eaten.

After the other two had gone, Blaze turned to look out over the ocean at the setting sun. The fiery orange ball had dyed the normally teal ocean a bloody red. A slight sea breeze lifted his short, fair, brown hair that normally hung just above his ice blue eyes.

He sighed, for a moment truly missing the Mobius squadron. They had been like a second family to him. He was just twenty-six, but he was all alone in the world. His parents hadn't wanted him to become a fighter pilot. They had wanted him to find a job closer to his home in Commonwealth. His dad had even suggested being a dockworker in Comberth. His mom had wanted him to become a lawyer. After he had signed his life away to the ISAF and shipped out to basic training, he had gotten a letter saying that he was not to come home and that his parents wouldn't be attending his graduation. That had crushed him, but Forrest had thrown himself into his flying, graduating at the head of his class and was assigned, straight off, to the Mobius squadron. There he had found a new family. They hadn't resented him because he defied his parents' orders. Quite the opposite actually, they had praised him for his willingness to make his own way in the world and all of the top pilots had proceeded to teach him everything they knew. It hadn't been easy for him, even if flying came as naturally to him as walking or breathing. He'd had to apply himself even more than he had in flight school.

After Central Command had broken up Mobius to help shore up the units that were close to wiped out by the Yellows, Brian had gotten a letter saying that the previous Mobius 1 had retired and that the old codger had named him, specifically, as his successor. That had been the best day of his life, but there wasn't much time to celebrate because the Erusians had forced ISAF into an all-out retreat to North Point not too long after.

"Keep staring at the sun like that and you'll shorten your flying career real quick Kid." Brian whirled, startled, and saw Bartlett standing behind him with a lopsided grin on his face.

Forrest returned the grin. "What do you want sir?" he asked, then added "Whatever it is, I swear I didn't do it."

"No. You sure did do it," Bartlett replied, both men turning serious, "today with those guys at Cape Landers. What happened?"

"Not sure I follow you sir," Brian answered, puzzled. What was his Captain talking about?

"You fought like a seasoned ace up there Kid," Bartlett elaborated, "I've never seen anyone with your fighting skills, except maybe the Demon Lord or Mobius 1."

"Really?" Brian replied, tensing up. This conversation was getting into uncomfortable territory real fast.

"Yeah," said Bartlett, nodding, "you were beyond amazing up there today. A nugget shooting down three enemies in his first real engagement? I can see you going places real fast Kid, just wanted to wish you luck after you leave here." Brian felt the tension drain away. Was that what this was about? Bartlett thought he was a shit hot pilot and was wishing him good luck on his next assignment. 'What a relief!' Forrest thought weakly. Though that remark told him he would have to tone down his flying on future missions.

"Thank you sir," he replied, snapping up a salute, which Bartlett returned, then the older pilot sauntered away, leaving the former Mobius 1 with his thoughts and memories once again.

"Ok, listen up people," Perrault's nasally voice droned, "Today several flights of UAVs overflew Sand Island and other points on the mainland. We have pinpointed them as originating from this ship," At his words, a point on the map behind him pulsed red, "Wardog is to stop them by any means necessary. You are not to attack the ship for any reason. Am I clear Bartlett?" Forrest scowled at the obese commander. He thought that since he was in charge of the base, he didn't have to respect those who served under him. Every briefing the ace had had with the fat man had ended with some dig on Bartlett.

"Yes sir."

"Good now get out there and get rid of those pests." With that, the arrogant Colonel saluted and the pilots walked out to their jets. Today, since they were on an intercept mission, the flight would be in F-15C Eagles with Bartlett in his trademark F-4.

Blaze scaled the ladder to the 15's cockpit and seated himself in the seat before Pops, the best damn mechanic and crew chief on two continents, helped him strap in and handed him his helmet.

"Thanks Pops," said Forrest as he hooked up the mask and g-suit to the air supply and sat his helmet on his head and strapped it down.

"Good luck up there Kid," replied the middle aged man with a gentle smile, "come back in one piece eh?"

"Sure thing. I'll see you at the O'club later tonight." Pops just grinned and descended the ladder. Meanwhile, Brian held down a switch that lowered the canopy and sealed it. He began flicking switches with practiced ease and, system by system, brought the jet to life. He took a brief moment to pause and listen to the growing hum of the twin turbofan engines behind him as they tried to kick over. He advanced the throttle a fraction and the fighter lurched against the brakes as the hum abruptly became a whine. Forrest pulled back to idle and finished his checklists.

"Wardog 1 to all planes," Bartlett's voice crackled in his ear, "sound off."

"4, 2, 3" came the rapid fire replies from the pilots as they made sure that their machines were at 100.

"Rodger that, Sand Island ground, Wardog 1, Wardog flight is ready to taxi." Static followed the statement for a few moments then came the answer,

"Wardog flight taxi to runway 27 and hold short. Contact tower on 144.8 when ready."

"Taxi to and hold short runway 27, call tower on 144.8, Wardog 1," Bartlett rattled back, "OK kiddies, you heard the man, let's move out." The mammoth F-4 next to Brian began to move and turned to the right, then passed in front of him.

"4 taxiing." Forrest stated then moved his throttle a fraction and felt the Eagle strain and then begin to roll. He waited a few moments then pushed the right rudder pedal all the way in. The jet turned and then Brian was on his way to the runway. At the Hold Short Line he hit the brakes and raised his hands, bracing them on the canopy above him. Only then did the weapons guys approach his jet and remove the safety pins on the eight missiles that weighted down his bird. The techs moved away and Forrest tossed a quick salute before he punched 144.8 into the primary radio.

"Wardog 1, Sand Island tower, position and hold runway 27." A few feet in front of him, Bartlett's lights came to life and he advanced across the four yellow lines that divided the taxiway from the runway, "Wardog 1, Sand Island tower, cleared for takeoff." A second later, a roar cut through Forrest's canopy as the huge F-4 began to roll down the runway at full afterburner, the twin ten-foot flames scorching the pavement as Bartlett pulled back and roared into the sky.

"Sand Island tower, Wardog 4 holding short runway 27," the former Mobius 1 said into his mask. One more time static followed the radio call then,

"Wardog 4, tower, position and hold." Brian advanced past the hold short line and flicked a row of switches to turn on his wingtip, beacon, and strobe lights. A second later his left foot pressed the rudder pedal all the way in and the jet wheeled left, right in line with the white dashed centerline. He disengaged the nosewheel steering and stopped and began to run down his jet's systems one more time. The ace's heart was pounding in anticipation of hurtling down the runway at more that 100 miles per hour. "Wardog 4 cleared for takeoff."

"Cleared for takeoff runway 27," he rambled back. Now there was no stopping him. His left hand pushed the throttle all the way forward. The F-15 shuddered like a horse in the gate, not liking being held back by the brakes. His feet left the top of the rudders and the jet began to roll once more, quickly gathering speed, a deep-throated roar reverberating in his ears. Forrest pushed the throttle that extra inch into full afterburner. There was a second lag then the jet lurched one way then the other as raw fuel was dumped into his red-hot exhaust. He tapped the pedals to keep the yaw under control. Now that he was moving, the control surfaces worked better. A second later and he pulled the stick back and held it. The jet flew off the runway and into the sky.

Now Forrest slapped the wheel-shaped gear lever to raise the gear before the wind of the speeding plane's slipstream tore off them off. He pulled the throttle out of afterburner to conserve fuel and, still climbing, turned right to exit the pattern. The pilot found Bartlett on radar and sped to his location. Bartlett, who had turned off his lights, now flashed them and Forrest slid into position behind, and a little below, his lead. About five minutes passed and the other two joined them and got in position, then the whole flight turned onto the course Bartlett had been given to intercept the UAVs.

"Thunderhead, this is Wardog checking in," Bartlett called.

"This is Thunderhead. Rodger. Wardog continue on present course to intercept the recon planes as they return to their vessel," the deep-voiced AWACS replied. The flight continued to streak north on the way to a date with some stupid UAVs. As they continued on their way, Brian began to scan the skies, looking for any white dots in the sky. He knew that they would be dealing with the Predator.

Despite the fierce name, the UAV was only good for recon and maybe some light close air support, depending if the flimsy thing carried anti-tank Hellfire missiles or not. No, he didn't like the new UAVs that everyone and their brother was hawking as the future of air combat. That was utter bullshit in his opinion. You just couldn't replace an on-location pilot with a remote team. But Forrest wasn't unreasonable; he knew that the UAVs had their own niche in the combat world. It just wasn't in front line air combat.

"Tallyho, we've got company," Bartlett's voice crackled in his ear, "show me what you've got Kid."

"Rodger that," the ace replied as he throttled up and rolled over the top of Bartlett's F-4. He could see the Predators already, two tiny white specks in the distance so he punched it to close the distance and get into firing range. He flicked his Master Arm to ARM and went to guns. He wasn't about to waste valuable missiles on some plastic UAVs. The first Predator was in range now. He put the pipper on the fuselage and pulled the trigger. 20mm red-hot tracers lanced from the wing root of his Eagle with a buzz saw like noise, striking the unmanned plane right where the gunsight said. He raked the second Predator with a second burst, this one shattering the wing and sending the UAV into a death spiral. He looped away and rejoined the flight.

"Great shooting Blaze!" Nagase said enthusiastically, "You're already way better than me and we graduated at the same time!"

"No joke Kid, you're a natural!" That was Chopper.

"Cut the chatter," Blaze stated in a monotone, " There are still more Predators around. Just look at the radar." The 15's greatest asset that made it such a formidable air superiority fighter was the enormous radar that had an unbelievable range. Well, that and a good pilot who knew how to work the thing. You could have a Wyvern and still get shot down if you couldn't fly the thing to the max.

"The Kid's right," Bartlett said in his usual gruff phone, "That ship launched more than one Predator flight." The flight split now, Blaze and Chopper going after one element and Heartbreak 1 and Edge going for another.

"Mind if I take this one Kid?" Chopper asked, the excitement clear in his voice. Blaze clicked his mike, a signal that he had heard and acknowledged. "Sweet! Let's see how I stack up!" Chopper pulled into position and opened up. His burst was a little off, but still hit the fuel tanks. The little plane went up in a big fireball considering its size.

"Woah! He blew up good!" the talkative guy exclaimed.

"No surprise there," Forrest replied, "Any weight they saved by taking out the cockpit was used for fuel. These little bastards can stay up for way longer that we can."

"So let's shoot 'em down eh?" Chopper said gleefully, "Then we go back to base and listen to 'Back of the Coin'!" Blaze rolled his eyes and the younger pilot went after the second Predator. He really didn't care for the rock music that Chopper seemed to like so much. The second Predator went into a nosedive, its propeller shattered by a 20mm high explosive round.

"Wardog 3, report on status," said Bartlett's voice curtly. Forrest spotted two specks heading towards them and knew it to be Heartbreak 1 and Edge returning.

"Both UAVs shot down Boss," Chopper said brightly, "I'm glad there weren't any people in these things aren't you?"

"Yeah," Edge said feverently, "I don't think I'm ready to take on real pilots yet."  
Bartlett snorted derisively, "Don't sell yourself short Nagase. You did fine against the MiGs yesterday."

"Only because you had my back sir," she replied, "Blaze took out half the flight on his own _and_ saved Chopper from walking home."

"Well that's me and not you Nagase," replied the ace, "I probably just had beginner's luck." 'and the experience of a war.' At that moment he really wanted to tell them that he was Mobius 1, but then his secret would get out and he would have to move to Ustio or Yuktobania or something.

"Wardog, this is Thunderhead," came the almost monotonous voice, "We have leakers again." Blaze's eyes widened. This was the third time in less than two weeks! He knew they were out in the middle of nowhere, but this was still Osea. Hell, even frickin' San Salvacion had better anti-air defenses than this! What was the early warning network doing?

"Same attack axis as before?" Bartlett asked. Forrest could tell by the tone that the older man was wondering the same thing.

"280, same axis as last time."

"Jeeze, how many planes they got lined up at the border? We only got four on our side. We better abort. RTB. Now!" And he rolled the F-4 away, back towards Sand Island. Edge followed suit, leaving Chopper and Forrest to try and catch up.

"Let's move Chopper," he said, "We don't wanna be around when those guys catch up. Trust me."

"But what about the ship?" Chopper asked, "are we just gonna leave it?"

"It was never in the orders to begin with," the former ISAF ace replied, "Come on. We gotta get out of here." His tone left no room for argument and the two F-15s turned away to head to Sand Island. Brian didn't realize that Chopper had fallen behind until he heard the frantic call,

"I can't make it, they're running me down!" Blaze's head snapped around so fast he cricked his neck. That minor pain wasn't helped by the g's that he was loading on as he snapped his plane into a hairpin turn to go help his distressed teammate. He lit the burners as Bartlett made some crack at Chopper about the trail position. While that happened, Blaze's fingers danced on the throttle and stick, setting himself up for a BVR shot with one of the AIM-120 AMRAAMs slung to his belly. The missile's onboard radar began to track the MiG on his HUD.

"Hang on Chopper," Forrest said reassuringly, "I've got him all locked up."

"Take him out Kid!" Bartlett yelled. Blaze pressed the button and launched the AMRAAM. The missile raced after its target as the ace took full advantage of the missile's fire-and-forget feature as he locked another MiG and launched a second AMRAAM. The counter on the HUD marking the time to impact of the first missile hit zero.

"Chopper how you doing buddy?" asked Blaze. A crackle of static met his ears and, just as his heart began to sink, a very welcome voice burst over the radio,

"Hey Kid! Could you have cut that any closer?" Chopper yelled at him. Blaze just grinned,

"Well, don't skip the details. Did I get him or not?"

"Kid, the bastard is on his way for a little dip." Chopper replied, "The missile buzzed my canopy man." Blaze grinned as he zoomed past the enemies in pursuit of the MiG-29 Fulcrum that his second AMRAAM had missed.

"Enemy squadron has commenced counter-attack," a heavily accented foreign voice said blankly over the radio. Forrest wondered for a second who it was then he remembered that AWACS was transmitting intercepted comms to the four fighters so they could gauge what the enemy was thinking. A useful concept, but the efficiency of it was limited to the willingness of the enemy to jabber. Most of the time, it was either the pilot swearing about being shot down, or the pilot was flipping out over the fact that the guy behind him was really good. The former Mobius 1 had lost track of how many Erusian ground-pounders and airmen had screamed, "It's the Ribbon!" over their radios. It also worked both ways. Blaze had noticed that most of the enemy pilots tended to go after Chopper, probably because he talked so much.

The MiG in front of him suddenly reversed his turn, but the ISAF ace was right there with him, matching him turn for turn. The MiG-29 was a good platform, Brian knew, because he had flown one himself during the Continental War. But this guy didn't seem to know how to fly it that well. His finger flicked again and, in an instant, he was in the guns mode. The pipper trailed behind the MiG just slightly and Forrest was pulling as hard as he could as it was. Nine times the force of gravity made him feel like an elephant or hippo was setting on his chest as he fought to stay on the other pilot's tail, then the MiG's pilot made a fatal error; he Split-S'ed. The maneuver forced the pilot to straighten his path so he could roll onto his back to follow through. The Eagle's superior power and better pilot made the attempted evasion a piece of cake to keep up with and also made the pipper slide into position. The tracers slammed into the area of the MiG's cockpit and the plane just kept diving. Blaze followed for a moment, then it hit him, he'd killed the pilot.

"Blaze, splash one," he radioed with a dead voice.

"You splashed an enemy fighter without permission to engage!? What are you thinking Wardog?" AWACS raged. A beeping jostled Blaze into the present. He had been locked up by an acquisition radar. That usually precluded a SAM or air-to-air missile launch.

"This is Blaze," he called, "I'm spiked. Where is it?"

"This is Thunderhead, the signal is coming from the ship," the airborne controller replied, "I'll see if I can jam it. Standby." A second later and the spike vanished.

"Thanks Thunderhead," replied the ace as he banked away.

"Edge, splash one," Nagase's voice cut in. The engagement lasted for another minute or two before the remaining two MiGs were shot down. Edge managed to rack up another kill and Chopper racked up his first after Forrest had scared the MiG into climbing right into Davenport's sights.

"Picture clear," reported Thunderhead, before Chopper spotted a puff below them.

"MISSILES!" he yelled into the radio. All four pilots began to jink and roll crazily before it became obvious that the deadly projectile only had eyes for Edge.

"Come on Edge!" Blaze yelled, "Evade it!" He watched as the woman tried desperately to spoof the thing, but it was really dialed in and, despite her best efforts, the missile just did not want to break lock. In the heat of the moment, everyone, including the former Mobius 1, forgot to use countermeasures. Then Brian witnessed something he would never forget as long as he lived, Bartlett's Phantom came out of nowhere and cut right in front of the missile. The rocket couldn't resist the newer, closer, target and changed course immediately.

'What the hell is he doing?!' Forrest screamed silently, 'the crazy bastard's gonna get himself killed!' His dire prediction came true when the SAM and the Phantom merged in a most unpleasant way. The resulting explosion was enough to tear off the wingtip and fatally wound the big fighter.

"Captain!" Edge cried, clearly worried about the man who may have just killed himself to save her. How could she have let this happen?

"Hey! Save the waterworks. I'm just gonna bail out here, make a call to scramble the rescue chopper and my reserve plane OK?" Bartlett told her trying to inject a reassuring tone into his voice. Then a bright flame lit up the Phantom's cockpit as Bartlett pulled, what some ISAF pilots had come to call, the 'get me the hell out NOW!' lever, and then the flame was followed by a stark white parachute as the seat left the man sitting in it behind to dangle from the risers.

"Thunderhead this is Wardog 4, Heartbreak 1's ejection is confirmed. Scramble the copters. Now." Forrest ordered.

"Rodger, rescue team is enroute. Wardog refuel and rearm at the base and get back into the air immediately."

"But the rescue chopper isn't here yet," Edge protested. The higher-ups really didn't expect the flight to abandon their Captain did they?

"Leave that to the rescue team. The enemy has declared war on us!" Thunderhead ordered curtly.

"Rodger that Thunderhead," Brian replied icily, "Wardog flight is on the way back now."

"Blaze! You can't really expect us to leave Captain Bartlett do you?" Edge cried, shocked that her normally distant, but amicable, comrade could be so cold.

"Seriously Kid!" Chopper yelled angrily, "what the hell are you thinking!?"

"Both of you shut the fuck up!" Forrest yelled, slipping up and showing the command presence that Mobius 1 was well know for, "There's nothing we can do! Besides, we have our orders. If you have a better solution, I'm willing to listen!" The ringing silence that followed his words convinced him that neither did. "Didn't think so. So quit bitching and RTB. The rescue team can handle it from here." The other two seemed too scared to talk to him so they clicked their mikes and fell into formation behind him, following his lead without any further complaint.

Author's notes: I'm going to be running this as a real military might, so that means possibly cutting out some parts or altering the story. Sorry. If you don't like it too bad , so sad.

_**Glossary**_ **Fox Two**: Radio code word for heat seeking missiles i.e. the AIM-9 Sidewinder

**Fox One/Three:** Code for radar guided missiles. The former needs guidance from launching plane, the latter is self-guiding. Examples are the Sparrow and AMRAAM

**Flight: **A unit. Consists of four aircraft. I.e. Wardog.

**RTB: ** Return to Base.

**Angels: **Altitude in tens of thousands of feet. Ex. Angels twenty is twenty thousand feet MSL.

**UAV: **Unmanned Arial Vehicle. Ex. Predator, Global Hawk, Voguls.

**AWACS: **Airborne Early-Warning and Control. Generally a JSTARS or E-3 Sentry. Basically a flying control tower.

**SAM: **Surface-to-Air Missile

Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know any constructive criticism.


	2. No more secrets

Disclaimer: See Ch 1

Last time: Bartlett was shot down and the Circum-Pacific war has begun

This time: Wardog helps the Kestrel escape St. Hewlett, Blaze and Chopper have a little fight, Forrest tells Edge a little about his background, and someone has figured out who Blaze really is.

* * *

Three hours, and a quick refuel and rearm, found the three Eagles of Wardog Squadron heading toward Port St. Hewlett on a mission to stop the Kestrel from being sunk by the enemy. Forrest had calmed down somewhat and now just kept his concentration on flying into combat. He wasn't mad at Chopper or Edge, quite the opposite really, what he was pissed at was the jackass higher-ups. They kept the four pilots under their political ROE instead of allowing them to just do what they were trained to do and just cut loose. ISAF had realized this and basically given free reign to all their combat pilots.

"Edge, you lead the formation," Thunderhead said to the three fighters as they approached the mountains that made a natural bowl around the bay.

"Negative," she replied softly, "You take the lead Blaze, I'll fly on your wing."

"Second Lieutenant Nagase follow your orders!" The AWACS yelled. Nagase, instead of being cowed and taking lead, peeled up and to the left to put herself off Blaze's wing.

"No. Blaze is leading, I'll protect his six. And I'm not going to lose another flight lead."

"I'll stick to the trail position," Chopper muttered. It was clear that the nugget…No, fighter pilot, wasn't looking forward to another round of combat. A deep voice cut in the flight's banter,

"Quit screwing around. This is a war. The enemy's all over, they'll eat you alive." Then the source of the voice appeared in the form of an F-14A Tomcat that roared over the flight's head, "This is Capt. Snow, callsign Swordsman, give me a position."

While a missile cruiser gave him a bogey to deal with, Blaze started to order his flight, "OK Wardog listen up," Forrest stated curtly, in full command mode now, "Our mission here is to make sure the Kestrel makes it out of port in one piece. Weapons free, and go after any target you deem a threat but try to keep each other covered." Even as he spoke, Brian was busy locking up an A-6 Intruder that was angling toward the 3rd fleet as they tried to leave St. Hewlett,

"Blaze engaging, Fox Three!" The AMRAAM, also known as a Slammer, dropped from his belly with a dull 'clunk' and roared after the attack plane, who seemed to realize his plight and pull up. Too little, too late. The Slammer struck, a direct hit that turned the sluggish plane into a banana-shaped streak of burning fuel and shattered fuselage. As the remains of the doomed A-6 struck the water, raising an ice white column of water, Blaze looped away and began to scan the sky around him in search of more targets. By now, the other two had found potential kills of their own to go after, Edge was in hot pursuit of another A-6 and Chopper had gone after a Yuke F-5 that had shown up to try and provide top cover. Nagase let a missile go in the second Forrest had taken to keep an eye on his wingmen. Chopper, on the other hand, seemed to be having a bit more difficulty. Blaze supposed it was because Edge was a bit better that Davenport and that, since the enemy's plane was designed for dogfighting in the first place, the enemy could keep trying to dance around in Chopper's sights.

"Dammit!" The pilot in question yelled, fustrated that the Yuke pilot kept picking just the right time to jink and force Chopper's aiming solution to be spoiled, "someone give me a hand!"

"Roger Chopper, I'm on the way," Blaze responded because Edge had decided to pick on another A-6, "go high and I'll scare him up to you." As Chopper pulled up, Forrest dipped down low and went to guns. No sense in taking Chopper's kill, or wasting ammo, by launching a missile. He was in range now,

"Ready up there?" he asked and, at the other pilot's affirmative reply, pulled the trigger, purposely keeping his pipper a hair too low in order to scare the shit out of the other pilot. The plan worked beautifully; as the tracers from the cannon in the Eagle's wing root rippled past the F-5, the pilot got spooked and pulled up as hard as he could. Right into Chopper's waiting arms.

"Chopper, Fox Two!" the younger pilot cried into the radio as a missile left the pylon under his wing. The missile left a smoke trail from the wing of Chopper's F-15 all the way to the enemy F-5. An instant later, the Tiger vanished in an explosion. "Yahoo! Chopper splash one!" the ecstatic pilot yelled as he pulled up to avoid any big debris.

"This is Blaze, kill confirmed. Nice shot." Forrest called as he reversed to check his and Davenport's sixes.

"Hey Kid! Did you see?! I got him!" Ok now all the excitement was seriously starting to get on the ace's nerves.

"Nice shot," he repeated, allowing some annoyance to color his tone, "Now get back on track or you're gonna be fish food." A faint gulp just barely reached his ears as the two split up to go seek out more kills.

"The Kestrel is in open waters! Bon voyage guys!" a random voice said over the radio. Forrest looked down at the harbor below him and, sure enough, the Nimitz-class carrier was past the bridge that separated the sheltered urban area from the open ocean. And he also could see a blockade waiting for them.

"Wardog form up," he snapped. A couple of seconds later, both Edge and Chopper glued themselves to his wings, "We've got a blockade ahead. The Kestrel's gonna have to run it."

"Roger," Edge replied swiftly, "What are we supposed to do?"

"We're going to provide air support and defense suppression."

"Hey Kid, that's all well and good, but we're not exactly equipped for taking on a fleet y'know," Chopper piped up.

"He does have a point Blaze," Edge added, "How are we going to make sure the Kestrel makes it through?" Forrest smiled grimly behind his oxygen mask. Those two had a lot to learn. The force the Osean military was fielding right now wasn't limited to just them.

"Look at the carrier. What do you see?" he asked. If either wingman found his question strange, their voices didn't betray them.

"I see…F-18s?" Edge answered. She did feel a little apprehension about Blaze. What did the carrier have to do with their mission? Besides the fact that they had to make sure that it got out to sea OK that is.

"Good eye," Blaze replied, nodding his head, satisfied. So she had seen them to had she? "Those F-18s are probably loaded with anti-ship Harpoons. We kill the planes wanting to kill them while they tear that blockade ahead to shreds."

"Nice plan." The other two agreed.

"OK, let's go." The three planes rolled and entered dives, each one locking up and heading for, one target or another. Tracers from the enemy fleets point defense streamed past the canopy but the trio ignored the potential death speeding past their jets. That mindset was very dangerous. Target fixation could get even an ace like Mobius 1 killed faster than one could blink.

Blaze pulled up just mere feet from the waves. The AA couldn't reach him here. They would have to shoot through their own hulls in order to get a bead on him. He wished they would try. Wouldn't that make his job just so much easier? He pulled up fast, risking leaving paint on the mast of the destroyer as he careened over the top.

'Wonder if they ducked?' He wondered for a moment, before Forrest got back to the task at hand, shooting down the Nimrod in front of him. The two enemies were coming head on. Good thing the AMRAAMs on his belly were all-aspect otherwise he would have had to take the stern shot.

"Fox Three, Blaze," he called as he pushed the release button. His missile was away. He knew that. The jet had lurched for a moment before settling out. By the time his brain had registered that, the former ISAF ace's hands had the F-15 in a hard climbing turn to get out of the way or risk becoming a fireball himself.

"Confirmed kill for Wardog 1," Capt. Snow called before coming into Brian's vision, "mind if I join up? Can't find my flight."

"Not at all Captain. The more the merrier," the other pilot answered. The two fighters went after a couple of F-4s that had come from nowhere. These guys were different from the average pilots that Blaze had been dealing with up to that point. They actually tried to dogfight him.

The four speeding war machines merged and began the dance that had been going on in the sky since airmen had had small arms on their person. The Osean pair was at a lower altitude, so the opening move went to the Yukes. The Phantoms rolled and dove on them. Snow tried to climb up to meet them, but Blaze actually mimicked the Yuktobanian pilots and dove as well. The Oseans had only been a few thousand feet up so the speed gain wasn't that great, but the move forced the opposing pair to split as well. As Snow began a turning fight with the first F-4, Blaze was busy trying to get the second off his tail. Forrest whipped his jet all over the sky, just a couple hundred feet from going swimming. He grunted and gasped as the g's assaulted his body, making every move of his arms and feet a test of his stamina and endurance. Even now, fatigue was wearing at the bare edges of his perception.

"Blaze! Where are you?!" Edge yelled, as she scanned the skies for her flight lead.

"Kinda busy right now, Nagase," Forrest grunted as he reversed for what must have been the millionth time, "Can I get back to you?"

"Now's not the time for jokes Captain!" she cried, startled by his lightheartedness, even as he fought for his life against the pilot behind him. Blaze didn't respond immediately. He rolled like he was going to turn. In his rearview mirror, he saw the Phantom move to follow. He smirked; the fool didn't realize he'd been set up. By trying to match Forrest's maneuvers turn for turn, the Phantom had bled a lot of airspeed, and being down low meant he couldn't dive to regain that speed. However, the F-15 had engines so powerful that their combined thrust actually _exceeded_ the fighter's weight. A quick finger dance on the HOTAS to get him into the right weapons mode, if the former Mobius 1's predictions were correct, he should come out right on the guy's tail.

He rolled level and hauled back on the stick. The 15 screamed upwards in a maneuver that the heavy F-4 couldn't possibly keep up with. Now Blaze was above his opponent and starting to loop down on the Phantom, who mistakenly tried to match the Eagle's sudden climb. While the F-4 was slowing down, the F-15 had come over the top of his climb and was starting into the follow through of a loop that had the pipper for the gun sliding into position on the Yuke, Blaze had made the switch as he started the climb.

The poor guy tried to jink, but the Phantom was too slow, too damn _heavy_. Blaze pulled the trigger. As angry red death perforated the fuselage of the doomed plane, Brian spotted twin flares shooting up from the dead plane.

'They ejected,' he realized as he let go of the trigger instantly. No point in wasting already limited gun rounds on a pilotless fighter. He pulled up to clear the wrecked Phantom and to get altitude so any enemy pilots looking for an easy kill didn't bounce him. Once he had hit a reasonable altitude, he lit the burners and regained the energy he had lost in the little skirmish.

"Captain Snow? Position," he called, looking for the other pilot. A minute passed, and just before he repeated the call, Snow's voice came through his headset,

"'Bout a mile behind you Wardog 1," he said calmly, if a little winded, "guess you got yours too?"

"That's affirmative Swordsman," the younger man answered, "AWACS bogey dope."

"Wardog flight, Swordsman, two bogeys inbound, bearing 080, altitude Angels 10," the E-3 controller responded.

"Roger that. Alpha flight, this is Alpha 1, intercept targets," Swordsman commanded. Blaze shrugged. The Tomcat pilot wanted the targets? Fine. Take them; he was getting close to bingo fuel anyway,

"OK, have fun. Wardog flight, fuel status," he called. If he was low, he could bet the other two were as well.

"Wardog 2, five thousand pounds," Edge reported.

"Wardog 3, four thousand five hundred pounds," came in from Chopper. He had gone after a Nimrod and almost gotten ambushed by a MiG-21 as he watched the anti-ship aircraft spiral in toward the ocean. He wouldn't be making that mistake again anytime soon.

'And I have five thousand one hundred. That's a little close. Chopper only has five hundred pounds surplus. We've done all we can,' Blaze thought. Disappointment flooded him. That surprised the ace. Was he starting to enjoy combat that much? No, he reasoned, it was the adrenalin rush he loved so much. Leaving combat meant no more of the endorphins in his system. Oh well, wouldn't he be a great flight lead? Running his flight into the sea with no gas just so he could get one more adrenalin rush. No, he wasn't that type of guy.

"Wardog to Thunderhead. Getting close to bingo fuel. Permission to disengage and RTB," he said. A moment later and the airborne controller came up,

"Roger Wardog. RTB vector 099. Thanks for the help."

"No problem. Wardog flight, let's go," the former ISAF pilot told the flight.

"Roger Blaze, lead the way," Edge acknowledged.

"One, two, three. One, two, three planes. Count 'em up man, we're all back safe. I can't _wait _to tell the Captain when they pull him out of the ocean!" Chopper laughed as the flight turned back towards home. About two hours and a debrief would change that.

"WHAT!" Chopper yelled at the top of his lungs. The Wardog flight had landed back at Sand Island about an hour and a half ago after helping the 3rd fleet make a successfully run the Hewlett blockade and break out into the open ocean. They had touched down feeling pretty good about themselves and the total success of their first real mission without an IP watching their every move and pampering them by coming to the rescue. Well, Nagase and Davenport felt good about it. To one Brian Forrest, however, it was a different story. The mission was just one more notch on his belt, just a few more hours of flight time and a couple kills as a bounus. That didn't mean he didn't feel good.

He felt great, wonderful, even! He had led a flight to victory and back without losing either wingman. The last time he had commanded a formal flight was in that final assault on Megalith after the Battle of Farbanti. But that had been more of a group of ISAF's top pilots flying under the banner of the Ribbon to make sure he took out the superweapon, he hadn't really issued any real orders. Sky Eye had said for all aircraft to follow him, but all he really did was light the afterburners on his Raptor and blow through the green Yellows who tried to stop him on his way to take out the generators and the central missile.

It was different now. Now he had two less experienced pilots to look after without decimating an entire two squadrons on his own. Add that to the giant ego that most pilots had and he would be lucky to get out of this with his sanity intact. Was this how Yellow Thirteen had led his infamous five-ship on their deep strike missions? He knew the Erusian ace had prided himself on his record of never losing a squadronmate. He knew because he had gotten a letter from a little boy who had personally known the Erusian.

The reason for Chopper's outburst now was the fact that Captain Hamilton, the base vice-commander, had informed them that the rescue team sent after their gruff captain had found only an abandoned parachute and a retreating enemy ship.

"Y-you can't be serious," Edge almost whimpered. She had a helpless look on her face, like a sheep without a shepherd.

"Unfortunately, Lieutenant, I am quite serious," the Captain replied coldly. The tone matched his appearance. The man wore his OADF blues uniform with precision and had ice blue eyes that matched the uniform's shirt. The stark blond hair, exactly within regulations, completed the cold appearance. Blaze didn't know why, but something about the man set him on edge.

"You should have let us open fire on the damn _ship!_" Davenport screamed at the top of his lungs, "then we wouldn't _have_ this friggin' problem."

"You know we couldn't have done that, Chopper," Blaze snapped, shocking everyone present, the normally quiet man really didn't seem to get that angry any time, "There's nothing we can do right now. I don't like it either, but that's how it is."

"How can you be that damn _cold!?_" Chopper yelled, grabbing the front of his new flight lead's olive drab flight-suit.

"Lieutenant Davenport, release Lieutenant Forrest immediately or go before a JAG. It's your choice," Hamilton stated, voice just as lifeless as before. Chopper glared at his superior before letting go of Blaze. "Good. Now there's the small problem of your flight lead. Based on Lieutenant Forrest's performance today during the evacuation of the 3rd fleet from Port St. Hewlett, the decision has been made to make him the flight lead until Lieutenant Colonel Ford can come down from Oured," he rose from the chair he had taken when he had first entered and saluted the three pilots, who knew the conversation to be closed with no room for argument and so stood and returned the gesture. After the icy officer had left, Chopper rounded on Brian,

"So? How 'bout it huh?! How come you're so damn cold!?" At least this time he didn't try to assault Forrest, who looked Davenport straight in the eye and, for the first time with out an airplane between them, allowed the _true_ Brian Forrest to come through,

"Because I have to be," with that he turned on his heel and left. Chopper was left standing there stunned. _Something_ in Blaze's eyes had him wanting to shit his pants. He didn't know what it was, but there was more to Brian Forrest that met the eye.

The man in question was stalking down the hall in a bad mood. Some might say he was pouting, but to those who knew him well would say that it was his own way of letting off steam. The man hadn't opened up to anyone here in Osea. He knew that would change once the two Wardogs finally got a real baptism by fire and started to get that the fact that in war not every thing was pretty and flowery. They had to have at least grasped the concept or they would be flying for the airlines instead of the Air Defense Force.

The former ISAF ace had reached his room now. After entering, he looked around at the place the Osea had set him up with. He used to have roommates, but they had been killed in the bounce that had happened just before the war started. Now he was the only one in the room. The doorway he stood in was directly across from a window that had a great view of the runway and had white Venetian blinds on them. Under the window was a small cabinet for their personal belongings like wallets, challenge coins and the like. A small aisle separated the two bunk beds that allowed for four airmen to sleep in the same room. The bottom bunk on the left pair was his. The other three beds had been stripped to their mattresses and the personals put into boxes and removed after the three other occupants had been killed. His crap occupied those spaces now. Forrest dragged a trunk from under his bed and opened the keyed padlock on it.

Inside, packed pell mell into it, was memorabilia from his days as The Ribbon. He picked up a yellowing newspaper clipping. The headline blared, "Lone ISAF ace destroys Stonehenge!" The ace smiled at the article. This had been the piece that had cemented his place in world history. He couldn't have done it without the guys who backed him up though. They had wiped out the triple-A and SAM sites that had littered the railgun facility. Another had taken out the ECM emitter in the center of the ring of turrets. Those actions had allowed him to take out the turrets. The planners had told him to aim for the control booths. After they had been leveled, the guns couldn't fire with their crew dead.

He even had had ammunition left over to kill Yellow 4.

Forrest hadn't been responsible for the final destruction of Stonehenge though. That was a common misconception. Nothing short of a B-1 or B-2 had that much firepower. As Brian recalled, the powers-that-be had decided to _level_ the superweapon and so had used B-52s carrying MOABs to do the job. It had looked like the Ulysses asteroids had all crashed on the facility after the bombers stopped dropping payloads.

The ace shook himself from the memory and pulled out a letter. This was the letter that had been written to him by the boy who had known Yellow 13. He had sent the letter to Forrest about three months after the war had ended. Brian had read and reread the letter so much it felt like a worn dollar instead of notebook paper. It had been good to get to know the pilot who had pushed him so much. He read the letter for what must have been the millionth time. After finishing that, Brian pulled out a large, thick, coin inscribed with his famed Ribbon and his unit number. The man smiled as he remembered hanging out at the O'club and coin checking all the newbie pilots.

Next was a picture. It was taken just before he had dropped out of sight and moved to Osea. He was in the middle, grinning, surrounded by his wingmen and best friends, all in front of one of the experimental X-02 Wyverns that Erusia had been developing before both of the combat-ready prototypes had been captured. After the picture had been taken, all the pilots had signed it and he had taken a taxi to the airport about a week later. A knock at the door had him jump and start scrambling to shove everything in the trunk. Before he could, the door opened and Nagase walked in to the room.

Blaze's hard-won peace vanished before his eyes. Most of the stuff that had identified him as Mobius 1 was gone, but some old newspapers and magazines that were printed only in Usea were still out on his bed, in her full view.

"What are you doing?" she asked, the puzzlement as to why her flight lead was shoving stuff into a blue and chrome trunk clear on her face.

"You really should knock, Nagase," he chided gently. He had to distract her from the ISAF stuff. Hopefully she hadn't fully realized what it was yet, "what if I had just gotten out of the shower?" Maybe embarrassing her into leaving would work. He could always apologize later. To his great surprise, a blush colored her cheeks and she spluttered something about him not having enough time to shower.

"What are those?" she asked, pointing at the literature on his bed, in an effort to both find another subject and take his attention off the obvious color in her pale face.

'SHIT! I'm screwed!' was his primary thought. He watched helplessly as Edge crossed to the bed and picked it up,

"An Analysis of the Effectiveness of Mobius One and his Effect on the War?" She flipped the magazine open and checked the print date, "June twenty-first, 2007? Brian, what is all this?" she asked, wonder clear on her face, "Do you know Mobius 1?"

'Think fast Forrest!' came through his scattered thoughts. Finally, he replied,

"No. I don't. It's just that he and the Demon Lord of the Round Table were my inspiration for joining the OADF." There. Not a real lie, half of it was true. He _had_ been inspired to join ISAF by the legendary Demon Lord.

"Really? Me too!" his wingman exclaimed, "He saved my Aunt's flight from being shot down by some Erusian interceptors!"

"Did he now?" Blaze replied with a nervous laugh, wracking his brains to try and find a memory of that particular mission. Edge nodded,

"Yeah. She works for Air Ixiom." Oh, that mission. When he was on a combat air patrol, Sky Eye had told him to go and protect the two airliners carrying Erusian defectors to ISAF. That mission had been the most critical of the war, aside from the destruction of Megalith. Without those defectors, they would have suffered many more losses to Stonehenge than they did and possibly lost the Continental War.

"No kidding?"

"Yeah. She said it was amazing to watch. Aunt Keiko said that he took out almost three whole flights on his own," she said, the amazement at what Mobius 1, what _he_, could do. She continued, "So why do you have all this? These articles were only printed in ISAF."

'Crap. Now what?' he asked himself. What could he tell her that wouldn't hint to her that _he_ was Mobius 1? Another half-truth then,

"Well the truth is," he started, seeing Nagase hanging on his every word, "I'm not Osean by birth. I used to live in Commonwealth until I was ten." Close enough to the truth anyway. Lying to his comrades would normally be the last thing he would do, but the anonymity he so desperately desired came first.

"Commonwealth?" Edge had clearly never heard of it. No surprise there; it was a small little town overshadowed by Comberth.

"It's a suburb a little north of Comberth Harbor," he told her.

"What's Comberth like?" she asked. Blaze could see what she was trying to get at. She wanted to talk about the sinking of the Aegir Fleet.

"Dunno. I didn't go there that often. Besides, when Erusia finally took over Comberth and tried to use the Aegir fleet to launch an attack on North Point, we had already moved to a suburb outside Oured."

"Oh," her disappointment was clear. This is why he didn't want it known that he was Mobius 1, because she would start asking him to show her maneuvers, tell war stories, the whole nine yards. After that, their conversation spluttered to a halt and Nagase eventually took her leave and left him alone. When he glanced at the clock, he got a big surprise. The red luminous numbers showed quarter after six. Edge had come in around four thirty. He'd spent an hour and fifteen minutes talking with her about what it was like to live in ISAF. He decided he was bored after about five minutes had passed, so he put the newspapers and magazines away in the trunk, locked it, and headed out into the breezy night, going toward the hangars.

Peter N. Beagle had the look of a fit man going into his golden years. The beer gut he had on him had certainly never been there when he had been the feared pilot known far and wide as the Colonel. No one knew that of course. Young Brian Forrest wasn't the only one with secrets. Yes, Pops did know that Blaze was really the legendary pilot Mobius 1. He had found out quite by accident.

He had been watching a documentary on the Continental War that had been on when the former Belkan ace had taken a vacation to the beaches of southern Usea. Pops had been a pilot for as long as he cared to remember and so he was fascinated by a pilot who could fly just as well, or if not, better that the Demon Lord of the Round Table. During his stay in the hotel near Crowne Beach, he had been watching the news and, much to his surprise, the reporter had been talking about the pilot who had flown in these very skies, accompanied by a very rare picture of the pilot's face. He had remembered shaking his head at the young age of the man, just barely out of his teen years. In his mid-twenties and already a legend. No wonder the kid had decided to up and leave. That was the last time Pops had thought he would ever see Mobius 1.

Then the latest batch of nuggets came down from Hierlark Base to Sand Island for what was known around the base as 'Bartlett's Boot Camp.' Pops had been more surprised than he had been in years. The last time he had been this shocked had been when his homeland had nuked itself. If that had scared the crap out of him, this had given him a full-blown heart attack. There, among the nervous trainees, looking completely at home, was Mobius 1. Pops had soon realized that the young ace didn't want to be found out because he would purpously fly as if he had the barest grasp of flying, even though he could have taken that little F-5 and made it dance.

"Hey Pops, working late?" Ah, speak of the devil. There was Forrest now. The balding man turned to adress the speaker,

"Ah! Blaze! Welcome to my kingdom!" the Raven said, smiling, and sweeping his arms out to encompass the spotless maintenance hangar. The other ace returned the smile,

"And what a kingdom it is Sire," he answered, playing along with the joke, "may this lowly whelp intrude on His Majesty's domain?"

"Feel free, but touch nothing peasant," Pops threatended good-naturedly. Both men laughed while Blaze picked up a tool and went for a loose fuel line on the engine Pops was working on. In addition to their pilot duties, all nuggets at Sand Island had to pick up a secondary specialty so they could help the NCOs at the units they would end up at. Blaze had picked mechanic. Both men had been working for an hour, conversing back and forth, when the air raid siren began to blare.

"The hell?" Forrest muttered to himself, "Hey Pops, did they tell you about any exercises today?"

"There are no exercises going on today, Kid." Pops replied, going white, "We're under attack!"

"Crap, I gotta get to my Eagle!" the younger ace yelled as he sprinted for the gaping doors of the massive shelter.

"Brian! Wait! There's no time!" Pops yelled, "Come with me, we just got some new birds from HQ. Three aren't combat ready yet, but one is fueled, armed and ready to go!" The older man was shocked by the change in Blaze's demeanor. He went from looking like a scared nugget under attack to a battle hardened ace, confident in his abilities to handle anyone, anytime, in any airplane.

"Show me," he commanded curtly. Pops nodded and led him to the other side of the hangar where there were four planes under tarps. There was something familiar about the silhouettes of the covered war birds. Pops walked over to the one in front and gave the tarp a solid tug. The tan sheet fell away to reveal an F-22A Raptor in all its deadly glory.

"A Raptor," Forrest murmured, a faraway look in his blue eyes. Pops knew he was reliving old battles from long ago. After all, he did it himself sometimes.

"Yep, and according to the orders I got from Colonel Perrault, they are going to be assigned to the Wardog Squadron."

"No way," the ISAF ace replied, awestruck. He would be back in a _Raptor_? This was almost too good to be true.

"Yeah. Now take it and go kick their tails, Kid," Pops paused wondering if he should let the Kid in on what he knew. Yes. He would tell him. That way he had someone to talk to if the going got tough.

Thuds from dropping bombs met the duo's ears. In a heartbeat, Blaze had flown up the ladder and was starting to run through the start up procedures so fast it almost made Pops' head spin. But then, this _was_ Mobius 1 he was talking about and this was his trademark jet. Of course he would be able to fly through it. No pun intended. Pops took a deep breath to steel himself and, in a low voice that barely carried past the two aces, told Blaze one last thing,

"Go show them what it means to tangle with Mobius 1."

* * *

Read and review! Hope you enjoyed. Sorry that this chapter is shorter by about 2000 words, but for the explanation, see my Naruto fiction, The Disappearance.

**Glossary**

Just a couple I forgot from the first one,

**HOTAS: **Stands for **H**ands **O**n **T**hrottle **A**nd **S**tick. Basically takes all critical dogfighting controls and places them on the stick and throttle. Some seventeen buttons in all I think. They control everything from radar, to weapons selection, to trim. Lets the pilot fight without having to take his hands off the controls. Hitting lots of these buttons at once is called 'playing the piccolo'.

**HUD**: Heads Up Display. Projects all vital flight information onto a piece of glass right at the pilot's eye level. Shows everything from target lock to airspeed and altitude. Believe me, I would love to have it in the Cessna I fly. When combined with the HOTAS, the modern air warrior can fly and fight without his hands ever leaving the controls or looking away from his opponent.

Any other abbreviations or acronyms I missed, don't hesitate to tell me and I will do my best to correct the error.


	3. Discussions

Disclaimer: I own Ace Combat! What? I'm delusional? Ah, dammit. Guess I own nothing.

Last time: Sand Island comes under attack. While helping out Pops in the hangar, Forrest is given an F-22A Raptor to fly into combat. While he is running through his start up procedures, Pops reveals that he knows that Blaze is really Mobius 1.

This time: The attack is countered, and Blaze and Pops talk about their pasts.

Sorry if this chapter seems like crap. I was falling asleep when I wrote it.

* * *

Forrest's head snapped up and his blue eyes fixed Pops with a wide-eyed stare that screamed to know how Pops had found out. No one was supposed to know! How had the old mechanic found out his secret when the damn _base commander_ didn't know!? The Belkan gave him a reassuring smile,

"Don't worry, Kid. Your secret is safe with me. We'll talk when you get back," he trailed off before he added, "come see me later and I'll tell you a secret of my own." Maybe the two of them could share things that they couldn't tell anyone else. Pops was a defector and was being hunted by the Gray Men and Brian was a famous ace that just wanted peace. Oh, yeah, they could help each other out. Or not. It all depended on what the younger man did from here.

Forrest heard the promise to keep his secret and nodded solemnly. Pops had some explaining to do when he got back. He finished his start up and moved the high-performance air dominance fighter out of the hangar and on to the taxiway, moving as fast as he could for the runway.

"Wardog 1, Sand Island tower, scramble. Takeoff as soon as you enter the runway. Join Wardog 2 and 3 in keeping the bombers from taking out the runways."

"This is Wardog 1, roger. Any chance of getting more birds in the air?" he asked, even as he made the turn onto 27 and lit his afterburners.

"We'll try, but don't get your hopes up. We have a lot of empty planes with no one to fill them. You three are our most experienced combat pilots right now. Don't let us down," said the controller, watching his radar screen in the tower trying to find enemy fighters to vector Wardog squadron intercept.

Blaze clicked his mike as he pulled back on the stick and felt a surge of sheer joy run through him as the Raptor _jumped_ into the air, aided by its thrust vectoring system. The engine nozzles on the back of his jet could swivel up and down, allowing him to outturn and outmaneuver any plane on the drawing board and in the sky. In his hands, it could even outperform Erusia's X-02 with some degree of ease. Now he had to find his comrades, not even worrying about if Chopper would feel resentment over his earlier argument. They were fighter pilots, they could compartmentalize and move on, leaving their argument on the ground and forgotten.

"Glad to see you made it up," came a voice over the radio. It was Pops, asking how he was doing, as if the man didn't even know who he was. Brian felt a rush of gratitude for the man for not telling the whole damn base who he was.

"Yeah, I'm up. Thanks for the new bird, Pops," he answered. The mechanic laughed at the gratitude he heard in the younger pilot's voice. Anyone else wouldn't have heard it, but Pops could hear the relief in Forrest's voice at being able to fly a jet that he was familiar with and could make it do what he wanted when he wanted. And nothing gave an ace a true chance to shine like a jet he knew like the back of his hand. Mobius 1 could kill any enemy in any jet, but give him a Raptor and watch him shred the opposition like a lawnmower on dry grass. The guys who stood against him either met a sticky end or ended up walking home with their infantry.

"Is your plane alright?" he asked, wanting, _needing_ to know if there was a problem with Blaze's jet that he needed to fix to make it work even better for the guy. He would also tear the other three F-22s apart to hunt for the same error so it didn't compound and kill someone that he didn't want dead.

"Works like a dream. I can't remember the last time a plane flew this well. Thanks Pops," Blaze replied, knowing the old warhorse would catch the hidden meaning in his words. Maybe have the head mechanic knowing about him wouldn't be so bad. After all, he knew the standards Mobius 1 would expect and Pops would meet, and more than likely exceed, those expectations.

"That's good to hear. Better find your wingmen before you three end up shooting each other." Even if Blaze laughed that off, he knew deep down that that was a very real possibility. Especially now. They had been caught off guard, were under attack at night, and _he_ was flying a stealth. The other two would have extremely twitchy trigger fingers and would be prone to shooting first then ask questions later.

"Edge, Chopper, where the hell are you guys?" he damn near yelled into his mask. Now he was Blaze, playing the part of a green combat pilot thrown into the middle of a surprise attack.

"We're about fifteen miles west of the island," Edge responded quickly, her voice tight. "They're bringing B-1s!" Blaze felt his blood run cold at that. The B-1 or 'Bone' as it was known, was wickedly fast, carried a payload to rival a B-52's and could fly extremely low, thanks to its terrain following radar. Its autopilot could even _fly _the bomber that low at supersonic speeds. The damn _autopilot_! And on a flat piece of ground like an ocean, it would be able to get to Sand Island with next to no problem.

Unless Wardog was able to shoot them down before they had a chance to get to their drop points and annihilate the base that gave the Osean military a great staging area to launch an invasion of Yuktobania. Blaze whipped the Raptor onto the appropriate heading and lit his burners again. The monstrous engines easily thrust the light fighter through Mach 1 and sent it on its way to Mach 2. At this speed, he would be able to intercept any bomber foolish enough to take a chance at attacking Sand Island.

Chopper was feeling pretty shit hot in his F-15, he was having himself a merry old time, killing MiGs and Tornadoes. That was before Blaze blew past him, nothing but a black streak against a rapidly darkening sky, leaving both him and Edge to wallow in his sonic boom.

"Damn, Kid!" he yelled, shocked that his flight lead had been moving so fast. Even as he watched the tiny speck out in front of him dive for the ocean as if he had stopped in midair and just decided to go down. "What the _hell_ did Pops _do_!?" His captain's laughter was proof enough that Blaze was having the time of his life.

"He gave me a new plane!" Forrest exclaimed, ecstatic to be able to fly the way he wanted to. He let out another excited whoop that brought a concealed smile to Edge's face. Blaze was acting like a kid in a candy store. And she couldn't blame him, Pops had given him one of the best fighters in the modern world, an F-22 Raptor. She had caught the distinctive shape of the speeding fighter's fuselage just before he blew towards the dark expanse of ocean below.

"Chopper, lets give him some top cover," she suggested still smiling at their leader's exuberance.

"Roger. Chopper engaging." And he rolled toward the dark water below.

"Edge, engaging," following Davenport's lead.

Meanwhile, Blaze had pulled out of his power dive and was now about six miles in trail with the last B-1. He was busy setting himself up for an AMRAAM shot, since the Sidewinder only had a range of about five miles. He got a decent track and pushed the button. Outside, the belly of his jet split open, the doors flicking open in the blink of an eye. An instant later, and a Slammer had been punched into the Raptor's slipstream and was already on the way to ending the life of the unlucky B-1.

"Blaze, Fox Three," he called, pulling up into a climbing turn to try and see if any enemy had gotten the bright idea to try and ambush him as he took his shot. Forrest seriously doubted it, though, because his fighter was a stealth. That meant that any radar waves that hit him were either absorbed by the RAM coating his plane or was reflected away by all the odd angles that covered his bird. The only time he was really in danger of being positively ID'd were when he was either turning his large surfaces to an angle that could reflect, or when the hard angles of the plane's innards were exposed, like when he was taking a shot.

"Blaze got a kill!" Edge cried when she saw one of the dark shapes skimming just above the ocean burst into flame and plowed into the waves, kicking up a gigantic spray.

"Nice, Kid!" Chopper yelled. If the Kid could do it then, by god, he could too. He put himself in line with a speeding bomber and prepared to release. Brian's voice forced him to abandon his ideas of matching Blaze's achievement,

"CHOPPER! BREAK! Dammit where the hell did he come from?!" Chopper craned his neck, trying to see around his ejection seat. He did manage to see the dark shape of a MiG. The thing was dead steady and waaaay too damn close. Chopper didn't need to be an ace pilot to see that the thing was just a couple of seconds away from either gunning him down, or launching a missile straight up his tailpipe.

'Crap! I'm dead!' pounded through Davenport's mind. There would be no heroic rescue by Bartlett, no Kid coming from out of nowhere to blast the guy in a head-on pass. He was really going to die! But salvation did come, not in the form of Heartbreak 1 or Mobius 1, but in the form of a nugget who had a mere twenty-four hours in the air,

"Archer, Fox Two!" and Chopper caught a glimpse of a burning rocket motor streaking into the MiG behind him. The tiny fighter blew up into just so many tiny fragments. Chopper looked around for the plane that fired the shot, finding none, he asked his wingmen.

"I don't know, Chopper," Edge replied, clearly puzzled. "I didn't see where the missile came from."

"I did. There's an F-5 sitting about three hundred feet below me." Blaze supplied. "I caught the flare from the rocket lighting."

"This is Airman First Class Grimm, callsign Archer. Control tower and all aircraft, I will be joining the Wardog Squadron," came a bright voice. Forrest knew who had been talking. He'd seen the kid walking around base, helping out the mechanic crews and talking with the pilots. Technically, Grimm was a pilot too, but he was a spare, one of the pilots who would only takeoff in the event that Sand Island had no experienced pilots left.

"How in the hell did you get up here?" Davenport demanded none too politely. "You're not even out of replacement pilot training yet!"

"I know," the newbie replied, a little defensive. "They didn't have any other pilots ready! The first wave that got through set a whole bunch of crap on fire and they need everyone they can get to help put it out!"

"So you just left?" Edge asked, her tone surprisingly icy for someone who was usually warm and easy to get along with. Of course, she could fly and fight with the best of them, so Forrest supposed looks could be deceiving.

"No! Pops told me to launch while he took my place!" the nugget protested. Before the argument could get any further out of control, Blaze broke it up,

"It doesn't matter now. Grimm, cover Davenport. Edge, you're with me," he snapped. "We've still got four bombers out there. Everyone pick a target and light 'em up!"

"Roger!" the other three said in unison. Seconds later, a new formation tore the darkness in half. The four missiles streaked across the sky, each trailing a smoke trail. It looked like an airshow. If airshows involved a formation of fighters killing a bomber formation.

"Be careful, Wardog," came the voice of AWACS. "I've got a fighter formation inbound. Negative on the IFF squawk. They're hostile."

"Wondered when he'd decide to start blabbing," Chopper muttered. Blaze grinned at his fellow pilot's annoyance,

"This is Wardog flight, roger that. Give us vectors to intercept," he answered the airborne command post.

"Enemy is currently inbound, bearing 270, altitude 3000." As one, the formation of Osean fighters peeled up and away, rolling out onto the new heading, putting the hostile bandits right in front of them. Blaze got a radar return,

"I have them on radar. I got six echoes. How is everyone on ammo?" He asked. No sense in getting into an engagement that they were going to run out of things to shoot with.

"Edge, I've used one AMRAAM and a Sidewinder. Three of each left plus a full gun."

"Chopper, three Slammers and a full gun and all the heat-seekers."

"Archer, a full gun, three Sparrows and one Sidewinder." Blaze nodded, satisfied. That would be good. He had both Sidewinders in his side bays, and four AMRAAMs in his ventral bay and all the rounds in his cannon.

"OK. Let's get 'em. Wardog Flight, engaging!" Now the flight split into three elements. Blaze and Edge went one way while Chopper and Archer went the other.

"Chopper, go high, Edge and I will go low." The former ISAF pilot commanded. The two elements went to their assigned positions and whiled away the seconds as the opposing flights closed on each other at a combined speed reaching close to six hundred knots. Finally, they got lock.

"FOX THREE!" all the pilots yelled together before breaking and pushing out countermeasures.

"Thunderhead confirms loss of 1…2…3. Three enemies have been destroyed. The fourth is bugging out." The AWACS reported, elation clear in his voice. "My god, you four are best damn squadron in Osea!" The four pilots congratulated each other as they turned back toward the hopefully still intact Sand Island.

"Sand Island, this is Ford. I'm out of fuel. Request clearance to land."

"Roger that Colonel Ford," the tower answered. "Cleared straight in on 27."

"Fly straight…" the Colonel was cut off in mid-sentence and Thunderhead's angry voice left no doubt as to what had caused the cut-off,

"That bastard shot him down! The bandit Wardog chased off shot down the Colonel! Scramble the rescue choppers! Repeat; scramble the rescue force! NOW!"

"Roger, Thunderhead. Scrambling rescue choppers now. ETA is five minutes," the tower told them. "Wardog, RTB and report for debrief. Colonel Perrault has ordered A1C Hans Grimm assigned to Wardog Squadron, effective immediately."

"This is Wardog 1. Roger. Wardog is reroute for debrief. ETA, two minutes." Blaze answered. He heeled his fighter around onto a heading that would take the flight of one Raptor, two Eagles and a Tiger back to base.

Pops was tinkering with one of the new Raptors that were to be delivered to Wardog later that day. It was early morning, the day after the surprise base attack. Beagle had to admit, seeing Blaze coordinate his flight like that to completely overwhelm his enemies had been truly inspiring. It reminded him of watching Galm 1 and Galm 2 kill while protecting each other's backs in an intricate dance that left any opposition on its way earthward. A shadow stretched up the wall beside him. Smiling, he turned to greet the new arrival,

"Well, I see you decided to come, Brian," he said, a fatherly smile stretching across his face. The pilot proceeded into the hangar and stopped beside him, staring at the Raptors with ice blue eyes that hid what he thinking concealed deep within them.

"How long?" he asked simply. He was getting straight to the point about a topic that clearly made him uncomfortable. How do you start a conversation with someone you'd been lying to since you met them?

"Since the moment I saw you with all the nuggets," the balding ace said gently. He didn't want to cut Blaze off from him. The boy was an extraordinary pilot and flight lead and was quickly becoming a skilled mechanic.

"How'd you find out? I was careful not to let anything slip," he said softly.

"I went on vacation to the Crowne Beach area," Pops answered. "They just happened to be running a documentary on you and the war while I was there." He watched the other ace with interest. How would he react to the news that his cover had been blown by simple chance?

"Operation Bunker Shot," Forrest murmured softly. Even if he was only feet away, Pops still had to strain to hear him. "How do the beaches look? I've avoided them like the plague."

"Pristine." Pops answered. "I was shocked at _how _clean, seeing as a war was fought there not too long ago." He could see that the other pilot needed to open up. It was as clear as day that he missed the comrades he'd fought with and grown close to. That was the nature of the pilot fraternity. They were all close, loved to party and pull pranks on each other and would die for one another faster than one could blink.

"What about you? Do you miss your flying buddies?" the question shocked Pops. He didn't miss the people who'd dropped nukes on their own soil without hesitation did he? He thought for a moment and realized that he did indeed miss them. Well, some of them anyway.

"Heh," the old mechanic smiled, "Do you know about me?"

"No. But I do have a hunch. You drilled BFM into the nuggets better than any ISAF instructor I've ever seen." Forrest said simply. "How could you not be an ace pilot?"

"Well. OK. I'll tell you then," Pops said comfortably. "Ever hear of Huckebein the Raven?"

"A little," Blaze admitted. "I heard that he went MIA when the Belkans dropped those nuclear bombs." Pops' eyes widened in surprise. The Kid had heard of him? That was unusual. Most people outside of Belka didn't even know his name.

"Yeah, he went MIA. But he's still alive," he said, keeping his tone low, but light. Forrest looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"How can you be so sure?"

"You're talking to him." That had been worth telling just to see the priceless expression on Blaze's face.

"You're an ace from the Belkan War?" Brian's voice was surprised and shocked. This old, friendly mechanic was an _ace_?

"Yep. I'm not as famous as you or the Demon Lord, but I did get around at one point," he said, "At least until I said that I wasn't going to drop a nuke on one of the cities I was fighting to protect."

"Fame," the former Mobius 1 spat the word like it was snake venom. "I never wanted fame. I just wanted to be the best. My parents haven't spoken to me in six or seven years and I haven't seen my new family since I left."

"New family?" Now Pops was puzzeled. What did he…? Oh, right, all the friends he'd made while he was with ISAF. "Never mind. Ever considered going back to see them?"

"Can't. The moment I show my face at Allenfort Air Base, the press will be all over me. The fucking vultures are always around because the 110th Tactical Fighter Wing is based there," Forrest answered bitterly. The last thing he wanted was to be followed back to Osea and revealed _here_ too. "How 'bout you?" Pops had to laugh. At seeing Brian's less that friendly look, he explained,

"I'm a traitor. If I ever show my face in Belka again, they will disappear me."

"Disappear you? What do you mean?"

"I mean that I will just vanish and never be heard from again," he smiled bitterly. "They view me as a traitor. Especially the hard-liners. They are known as the Grey Men. Let it go at that and you will be much happier." Forrest just nodded. If it kept his life simpler, hell, he would let it go.

"So we're both just lying snakes then huh?" Forrest asked, to which Pops gave a half-laugh,

"Yeah, but it feels good doesn't it?" Now the ISAF ace laughed too.

"Sure. It makes life just so much simpler that way," he said dryly. He turned to leave.

"Brian!" Pops' voice stopped him. He turned back to look at the other ace, who was wearing a smile,

"If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me," the Raven called to him.

"Same to you, Pops," The Ribbon returned. Then the two deadly fighter pilots went their separate ways.

Edge looked around for Forrest, wondering where her Captain was. They had a briefing on their next mission in five minutes and they couldn't start without the man who would lead them into battle. He was usually at least ten minutes early. Where could Blaze be?

"What's up, Nagase?" She jumped when a voice spoke suddenly behind her. The only female pilot in Wardog whirled around to see who had scared the shit out of her and saw it was only the man she had been looking for.

"Where have you been?" she asked, curiosity clear in her voice. Blaze had been acting strange ever since she had found him in his room with all the stuff from Usea. It had hit her in that moment that she really didn't know her lead as well as she thought she did.

"I was in the hangar with Pops and lost track of time," he answered. That was partially true at least. He _had_ been with Pops and he had almost lost track of time, but he had taken the time to walk back to the briefing room building and it didn't help that the two buildings were on the opposite sides of the base.

"Well c'mon!" she insisted, trying to drag him down the hall, "We have a briefing in a few minutes and you know Perrault will not be happy with you if you miss it!"

"Sheesh, you sound like you think I actually care what that fat ass thinks!" His words stopped her cold,

"Why do you say that? You know he could have you transferred if he felt like it!" she was shocked that he didn't look too concerned with that.

"He won't do it," Blaze replied confidently. "We're the best, most effective, and most experienced combat unit in all of Osea. He wouldn't dare piss off the Joint Chiefs by disbanding us. They would take this base from him faster than it takes to blink." He gave her a lopsided grin and brushed past. Edge was rooted to where she stood. For an instant, that had been Capt. Bartlett smiling at her. Was Blaze as good a commander as the old firebrand had? Forrest had shown that he was more than capable of being in command. Now they would have to see if he could get them all through this war alive.

"Settle down people," Perrault said unnecessarily. The room had been called to attention the moment he had entered the room. He loved that. All the fat base commander had to do was walk into the room, and everyone there would drop whatever they were doing just to acknowledge him. It was a great way to inflate the ego of a man who had never been in combat. He'd taken the pencil pusher way up to the top and most of the combat pilots resented him for it.

'At least the higher-ups were smart enough to give him command of a training base instead of a major base like the one near Oured,' Forrest thought bitterly. Of all the officers he'd worked and flown with, Perrault was most certainly in the dead last slot. 'Too bad this has been the first line of defense for all of Osea as of late.'

"Ok," the pudgy base head began, "your next mission is to escort our three carriers into our inland sea in order for us to use them as a way to launch a counter-attack on Yuktobania." Now the Intel Officer took over,

"You will fly top cover for the Vulture, Buzzard, and Kestrel, which escaped the attack on St. Hewlett, thanks to your efforts. Once the carriers enter the inland sea, the Yukes will be unable to attack them." Something about that statement made Blaze uneasy. He didn't know what it was, but he had a feeling the mission was going to go south real quick. He didn't know how right he was.

"The situation will be fluid so we have armed two of your Raptors with the air-to-air loadout and the other two with the air-to-ground. You can work out who gets which Raptor. You will also be flying with wing tanks. That is all." That statement made Brian want to scream at something. The Raptor had points on its wings where droppable pylons could be mounted, to boost its range, like they were doing now, or to add on additional missiles. Though, it meant sacrificing two of the F-22's biggest advantages; its stealth and some of its blistering maneuverability.

"Room, Tench-HUT!" Forrest yelled, and the four pilots sprang to their feet, ramrod straight and trying to drill a hole in the wall with their eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, Blaze saw the fat commander salute and walk out of the room, leaving the pilots to their preparations for the upcoming mission.

* * *

And thats it. The stage is set for Scinfaxi's attack. Read and review as always.

**Glossary**:

**ETA:** Estimated Time of Arrival. Self-explanatory.

**BFM: **Basic Fighter Manuevers. Basically learning how to fly a plane, the military way.

**A1C:** The abbreviation for Airman First Class.

**Bug out**: Getting the hell out of the combat area.

**Scramble:** Pilot speak for saying "Get your ass in the air, NOW!!"

**MIA:** Missing In Action. Designation give to those who get lost on the battlefield. Most never return. God rest their souls.


	4. I have a bad feeling about this

Disclaimer: I'm too lazy to come up with something. See Ch1-3.

Last time: The attack on Sand Island is repelled and Pops and Blaze talk about their pasts.

This time: Scinfaxi wipes out the carrier task force.

* * *

Blaze scowled to himself as he prepped his Raptor for takeoff. He just couldn't ditch the feeling he had that something bad was going to happen. 

"Calm down, Kid," said Pops, who was helping the younger man strap in. "Keep this up and you'll end up with wrinkles way before your time." Blaze just shrugged and kept going. Pops thought that he was still hurt that the Belkan had found out who he really was. He was proven wrong when Blaze responded,

"I can't calm down. I just know something's going to go wrong on this mission." Pops frowned. A pilot, especially a good one, sometimes had a sixth sense about things like this. It wasn't clairvoyance by any means, but just that warrior's instinct that could only be developed through hours and hours of combat.

"Any idea why? The intel we've been getting doesn't really point to any major Yuke activity in your operations area. The chance of them actually trying something is pretty low." Blaze shook his head,

"I dunno why I feel like this, but it's happened before."

"When?" asked the older ace, clearly it wasn't coincidence or Forrest overreacting if it had happened to the former ISAF pilot before.

"The assault that ISAF launched on the Tango Line right after Operation Bunker Shot," Brian replied. On that fateful mission, Stonehenge had opened up on the attackers as they tried to bring down Istas Fortress. They had known that the probability of the superweapon firing was a real possibility because the attack had to be launched inside of Stonehenge's range.

"What happened during the mission?"

"Stonehenge opened up on us. Killed a fair few and forced a lot more to bail out," the former Mobius 1 answered grimly. He had wanted to go after the cannons right then, but knew that, without knowledge of how the thing worked, the possibility of him surviving was next to nothing.

Pops winced at the pilot's obvious emotion about the cannon's attack. He could remember when Excalibur had fired on some Ustio fighters during their escort of some cargo planes. The Demon Lord had destroyed the laser within two weeks after the incident. Now he was talking with a similar man about a similar occurrence. It made the old mechanic really wonder about how the top ace of the Belkan war felt about losing someone it that way.

"You better get clear. We're gonna miss our departure time if we don't hurry the hell up."

Blaze's voice jostled Pops out of his daze and the old man descended the bright yellow ladder that the maintenance guys had wheeled out for the pilots to make climbing into the plane easier. He pulled it away and heard the jet fuel starter on Forrest's jet whine to life. A moment later and there was a cough as the starter generated enough torque for the actual engines to kick over and start.

Close to ten minutes later, and a little ahead of schedule, the four Raptors of Wardog Squadron lifted off into the sky. Pops watched as they formed up around the lead plane and turned east to escort the carriers to the inland sea. Perhaps Pops was just wound up from listening to Blaze talk about his experiences as Mobius 1, or perhaps it was the Raven's own warrior's instinct kicking in, but either way Pops started to feel the way Blaze had. Maybe something _was_ going to happen on this mission.

The carriers were in to the inland sea. And nothing had happened. Still, one Brian Forrest still felt uneasy. The mission couldn't have been any smoother. AWACS hadn't see one blip on the radar. The ace thought he could understand. He wouldn't have wanted to tangle with a force of this size either.

All the planes from three carriers air wings and the most experienced squadron in the OADF would not be something anyone wanted to take on.

"Well that was easy," Chopper commented easily as the F-14s in front of them peeled off to return to their carriers.

"Yeah," agreed Grimm. "That wasn't so hard." Forrest kept his eyes on the radar, watching for any blip that didn't belong. Just because no one in their right mind would want to mess with a force this size didn't exactly mean that they _wouldn't_. And if he were the Admiral of a carrier task force, now would be the time to attack. The ace's eyes narrowed as he thought he saw some signatures that weren't responding to IFF.

"Thunderhead, Wardog 1. Request picture," he said shortly. He couldn't tell what was going on, but the E-3's radar was much bigger than his, and many times more powerful. They would be able to tell him what was up.

"What are you talking about, Kid?" Chopper asked. Why was his Captain doing a picture check? It was clear, had been the entire mission.

"Thunderhead to Wardog, picture…wait. All planes, bandits confirmed bearing 370! Where the hell did they come from? All aircraft, return to your stations and prepare to intercept!" the AWACS yelled.

All hell broke loose down below as airplanes on final approach to the carriers were suddenly waved off by the LSOs on the decks and hurried to go from landing configuration to getting ready to fight. Those that had just landed were marshaled over to the catapults and hooked in. The preparations would take time, though, and that was one thing the surprised defenders didn't have much of.

"Wardog, split and go for whoever you can!" Blaze yelled, "Those things'll be carrying Harpoons! Get them before they get the carriers! Kestrel, hurry up and link up with Buzzard and Vulture!"

"Roger!" Wardog responded and went their separate ways, trying to hit the Harriers before they could get off a shot.

"Wardog, this is Kestrel, we are making best possible speed, but we cannot go any faster. You'll have to hold them off until we can get some squads into the air!" Blaze cursed to himself as he rolled and dove, angling to take out one of the VTOL planes before they could get off… Too late, he saw something detach itself from one of the Harriers and light a motor. Didn't take a genius to figure out what it was.

"HARPOONS IN THE AIR!" Forrest screamed into his radio. He heard jumbled and confused responses from the ships below him even as he finished locking up a bandit and let fly. The AMRAAM flashed across the space between the two warplanes, closing on his target and then passed harmlessly by, for some reason not detonating. He swore again and went after the guy he'd shot at again, now at close range, trying to get his pipper on the slower jet for a guns kill.

"Chopper, splash one!" Davenport said as he saw one of his Sidewinders hit another Harrier and reduce it to nothing but a shower of burning fuel and shrapnel. He looked around for another kill and saw Blaze in a turning fight with the Harrier that Forrest's missile had let live. He fell in behind the swerving Yuke and his flight lead, making sure that he had his head on a swivel to try and keep someone from bouncing them.

Blaze grunted and jerked his stick one way, then the other, his feet pounding the rudder pedals to keep the AV-8 in front of him The pipper just wasn't cooperating with him, every time the thing would get close to his enemy, the guy reversed and they were back to square one. He growled as the guy reversed again.

Forrest was able to keep the guy in front of him, sure, but getting the gun on him for the second or two he needed for the 20mm cannon shells to rip the Harrier apart was another story. Finally! There! It was on target. His finger squeezed the trigger and the gun came to life with a noise like a chainsaw and the red tracers did their work.

As he pulled up from the wreckage, he checked on how his team was doing, Chopper was right off his wing covering him. When had he done that? Oh, well, it didn't matter. Edge was pulling up from another fireball, making her Splash One call. And Archer? Blaze caught the final, spectacular moments of Grimm's engagement. The rookie pilot made a textbook 'slash-and-dash' run and managed to keep his cannon on the guy long enough to make his second kill ever.

"Nice, Grimm," Brian told him. He really was impressed with the younger pilot's performance so far. New to combat, he had scored two kills without any help from the others at all. Oh, yeah, the nugget was a real golden arm.

"Thank you, sir!" the other pilot replied with modest enthusiasm. The flight rejoined just as Snow in his trademark F-14 came up beside them.

"Well Wardog," he said, "Glad to see that you've matured somewhat since the last time I saw you."

"It wasn't that long ago, Capt. Snow," Blaze answered. The naval pilot laughed.

"True," he admitted. "But you guys are the best we have now."

"I doubt that. Weren't you flying in the Belkan War?" Chopper broke in. There was silence before the other man replied,

"Yeah. I was at Waldriech when the bastards dropped their bombs." The horror of what the man had witnessed that day was clearly on his mind right then.

"Okay, drop it," Forrest said curtly, sensing the Tomcat pilot's discomfort. "Bet we still have enemies to deal with."

"Bandits, 080 at 45. They have Harpoons as well! Wardog, Swordsman, stop them!" Thunderhead yelled. The five pilots clicked their mikes and broke hard to meet the oncoming threat.

"What do you wanna do?" Swordsman asked. "I'll follow your lead, Blaze." Brian nodded and thought about what to do. They would need to take out the enemy before they had a chance to launch the anti-ship missiles.

"Swordsman, you have AIM-54s right?" Blaze asked, wondering if the Tomcat was carrying the ultra long range missiles that could hit something almost fifty-four miles away.

"Yeah, want me to use them?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Forrest replied with a hidden grin. The bastards wouldn't even know what hit them.

"Roger that, give me a minute." A few seconds later, four AIM-54 Phoenix missiles dropped off the F-14's underbelly and streaked off into the clouds, each tracking a different target. A minute or two passed and then,

"Confirmed splash on all four enemies. Nice shot Swordsman," the AWACS controller commented. As the planes looped back to their carriers, the bad feeling Blaze had been dealing with the entire mission went up about ten notches. His feeling was justified by Thunderhead's next words,

"CONFIRMED LAUNCH OF BALLISTIC MISSILE!"

"A ballistic missile?" Grimm shouted. "Are they trying to kill everyone!?"

"Thunderhead, this is Blaze," the Raptor pilot called, "Is the missile nuclear?" Everyone present waited with bated breath, hoping the answer was negative. After a burst of static, Thunderhead finally got back to him,

"Negative, it's conventional, but it might as well be nuclear," he said grimly.

"Explain," Brian demanded.

"It's a MIRV airburst missile. Burst altitude is roughly 5000 feet. Get above that and you should be safe." The five pilots needed no order from Blaze. They lit their burners, tempting fate by burning precious fuel that they were already so low on, and hauled back, doing a zoom climb to ten thousand feet, double what they needed, but better to be safe than sorry.

Swordsman and Wardog were the only ones who did, however. The other, less experienced, pilots were busy milling around below the altitude they needed to be above. The poor men were all going to die.

"Five…four…three…TWO…ONE! BURSTING!" Thunderhead yelled, trying to convince some of the younger pilots to get above. A massive white light lit the entire area and the dying cries of pilots and sailors alike.

"Oh..my…god!" Nagase exclaimed, sounding close to breaking down and crying right there in her cockpit.

"No!" Davenport and Grimm yelled together, clearly horrified. Blaze said nothing, not flying over the Inland Sea of Osea anymore. No, now the Wardog leader was once again Mobius 1, flying at a mere fifteen hundred feet above the ground, trying not to smash his speeding jet into the side of one of the massive mountains and plateaus that made up the Istas Fortress.

"_Ten seconds to impact," Sky Eye told all the ISAF planes flying in the area, "Eight…Seven…Six…Five…Four…Three…aaaanndd…IMPACT!" An instant later, Brian's controls were bucking in his hands as the massive slugs from a railcannon five hundred miles away. Cries and prayers from the men around him who hadn't managed to get down low enough filled his headset, ingraining them self in his nightmares for years to come. Even now, sometimes the ace would wake up, the screams of dying pilots echoing in his ears._

"BLAZE!" Edge's voice jolted him out of his flashback with a start. He had sunk into a dive. Now he was hurtling toward the ocean and his speed was building, making it ever more likely that he wouldn't be able to recover in time.

"Kid! Pull up, Kid!" Chopper yelled at him. For some reason, that snapped Blaze out of his trance-like state and he pulled back hard, grunting and straining to stay conscious from all of the g's. Finally, his jet bottomed out and blew skyward again.

"Damage report." Thunderhead said, clearly still numb from the horrific act he had witnessed.

No one seemed to want to answer, until Swordsman broke the eerie silence that hung over the battlefield,

"This is Swordsman. I'm alright. Looks like the Wardog squad made it too."

"Two carriers lost." Grimm said, his voice hollow as he told everyone what he could see. "I can't see any survivors from here."

"This is the Kestrel. We made it. Swordsman, return to the carrier for debrief." The call came as a surprise. No one had expected that one of the warships would survive. If anyone had been in a more coherent mood, they would have realized that Grimm had said he could only see two carriers sinking.

"Wardog this is Thunderhead, proceed north to Hierlark Base for refuel and rearming." Blaze said nothing to the AWACS as he rolled his jet out onto the heading that would take him to the base. He hadn't wanted to see any of this again. How many times did the various countries of the world have to field such deadly superweapons? Thunderhead came back up,

"Wardog do you copy?" he asked, genuine concern in the AWACS' voice. He really wanted the four pilots to be okay. He had really gotten attached to them from his time working with them. After all, every time Wardog launched, Thunderhead was ordered to go and be their eyes. It didn't mean he was on the same plane every time, but he had the same callsign no matter what the AWACS mission. He was _their_ controller. How many radar operators in the OADF could claim that?

"This is Wardog, roger. Head to Hierlark Base to refuel and rearm," Edge answered for the flight when it became clear that Blaze was in no condition to do so. It was clear to the woman that Blaze was flying and understanding because he had rolled them onto the new heading, but no one was home. She would just attribute it to shock, but later, when she had found out who Blaze really was would know that he was really reliving missions long since over.

"Wardog, Heirlark Tower, cleared to land, runway 9," the northern base's controller told them.

"Cleared to land runway 9, Wardog flight roger." Blaze replied. He had come out of his shock and numbness a while ago, but his flight couldn't help but notice that his voice was still a little dead. But, there was nothing wrong with his landing as the four jets touched down on the runway and went to the nearest hangar to be serviced.

Blaze ran through his shutdown procedures mechanically. He reached for the switch that would unseal the cockpit and raise that canopy to let him out, not because he wanted to but because it was on the list. Hitting it, he unstrapped and disconnected all the various hoses and buckles that held him and the F-22 together. Finally free, he pulled himself out of the cockpit and climbed down the folding ladder that was hidden in a little compartment, just underneath the cockpit.

"Are you OK, Brian?" A voice from behind him said. The ace turned slowly to regard the person who had spoken. It was Edge. This was the first time she had actually used his first name. She usually called him Blaze. TAC names were as good as names in the military. The same could be said for surnames. A lot easier to remember a last name when every uniform you owned had your last name on it somewhere.

"Yeah?" he asked in the hollow voice he had been using ever since the burst missile attack. He went back to closing off his jet, opening a panel and hitting the switch that would lower the canopy again. Once that was done, he closed the panel and opened another. This one contained the Raptor's main circuit breaker panel. He found the one labeled 'canopy' without too much effort and pulled it out. Now any curious nuggets here wouldn't be able to enter the F-22 and start playing with things they shouldn't.

Edge waited till her clearly troubled flight lead finished and turned back to her. She had a feeling that if she had tried to talk to him while his back was turned he would have ignored her.

"What's wrong?" she asked. The amount of concern in her voice startled Forrest somewhat. He hadn't expected it from her. He didn't think that they knew each other that well.

"Nothing," he stated and started to walk off. Nagase felt a surge of anger and frustration ripple through her. Before she knew it, she was shouting, startling herself and Forrest in the process,

"Don't give me that SHIT!" she screamed, "You've been acting so damn weird since that freaky missile attack! You won't get over it if you don't open the hell up!" Blaze turned back to her and, for an instant, it was a different man staring at her out of Blaze's ice blue eyes.

"Understand me, Kei," now it was her turn to start. He actually remembered her first name? He almost never called anyone by their given name. Chopper he could understand. His first name was Alvin. What fighter pilot would want a first name like that? She realized that Forrest was speaking again,

"I appreciate your concern, but this is something I need do deal with on my own."

"But why?" She didn't get it. "Why do you want to work this out alone?"

"I can't tell you that. Just understand that there are some things about me that aren't meant to be know." It hurt him to say that. He wanted nothing more than to open up to someone who could understand him even better that Pops could. One of his best friends in Wardog would be the ones to open up to, but he didn't want the fact that he had been lying to them for as long as he had known them out there in the open. They would never trust him again. He would only reveal himself when it was necessary.

Edge felt crushed as Brian walked out of the hangar into the biting cold wind here in North Osea or South Belka, depending on who you talked to. He didn't trust her? No. He did trust her, that was evident, as she had covered his tail from hostiles all the time on missions. You didn't let someone you didn't trust guard you tail. So that meant he was hiding something? But what? She hadn't the foggiest idea what.

Maybe he was some kind of super ace hiding from his past. Nagase laughed at that. Quiet, calm Blaze a firey kickass ace? Yeah, and next you would be saying that the Belkans were trying to dig a tunnel to sneak into the country. She walked off, still chuckling to herself. Little did she know how right she was.

"Okay. This is what happened, we were caught by surprise right? They had shot first and somehow missed all of us! So I'm screaming at AWACS to give us permission to shoot and…" Brian quit listening to Chopper tell all the trainees about their first engagement. That seemed so far away, years ago, when it had been just weeks. He smiled as the nuggets eyes went wide at the tale of how he had shot down over half the flight single-handedly. He looked at the newspaper article published about them that was tacked up on the bulletin board. It was a shot of all four of them. Well, three and a half. His face was blocked out by Chopper's elbow as he held Grimm in a headlock. The headline blare 'Four Fighters Single-Handedly Defend Osea From Attack!'

'Just what I need,' he thought grimly. 'More publicity. Better hope no one back home sees this and figures out where I am.' He completely overlooked the fact that his face was obscured. Although he missed his squadronmates, he knew that where ever the Mobius Squadron went, the press would follow like so many insects looking for fresh meat and they would see him and blow his cover straight to hell.

A few hours later found Blaze sitting in the chow room, trying to gag down some of Hierlark's infamous cooking.

'Ugh,' he thought as his stomach almost rejected the horrible food. He was sure that the cooks at this ice cube did this on purpose to make already miserable training even more unbearable. 'Never thought I would have to eat this shit again. Boy, was I stupid. Two year old MREs taste better than this.' Just as he was getting to the last bit (ALMOST DONE! YES!!), Chopper took that moment to stroll into the room. He noticed his buddy sitting there trying to gag down some of Hierlark's cooking.

"Hey, Kid!" he said in his usual exuberant manner. He snickered at Forrest's look of disgust. Davenport knew how that crap tasted. Every single pilot in the OADF did. And every single pilot hated it with a passion. If he knew that they would have been diverted to Heirlark, Chopper would have packed his own food. He was fond of saying that even rancid cow manure tasted better than Heirlark food.

"Shut up, Chopper," Blaze bit out. He did look faintly green. More that one nugget had dropped out of flying just because they couldn't take the food anymore. "I think I'm gonna hurl."

"No surprise," Chopper answered, flinging himself down into the chair across from his friend. "This _is _Heirlark you're talking about. They aren't known for their gourmet food y'know." Blaze finally gave up on the food and pushed his tray away.

"Tell me about it. Why don't they have decent food in this joint?"

"Because, 2nd Luetenant, food isn't on our list of priorites," said a voice behind him. Both men looked and, seeing the Colonel in charge of the base, jumped to attention. The grizzled old man smiled,

"At ease, boys," he said with a kind smile. This was Colonel Jack Rivets. He was the complete opposite to Colonel Perrault. He was kind, encouraging, and was a competent base commander. That was why he was charged with shepherding the future of Osea's air forces. "I know how crappy the cooking here is. I had to eat it once too."

"Was as bad then as it is now?" Chopper asked. Blaze pinched the bridge of his nose. That wasn't something you just upped and asked the freaking _base commander_! Rivets just laughed at Blaze's reaction,

"It's okay. I don't mind," Now he looked at Chopper again. "I ate here when they served rations instead of real food. You miscreants have it so much better than I did." The three men laughed before the commander looked at Blaze with a serious expression.

"Lt. Forrest, I need a word. Please come to my office with me." Puzzled, Blaze left with the commander and left Chopper with nothing to do but wonder what the two men were going to discuss.

The Colonel's office was lavish. Books on shelves ran along the right wall, the solid block of books broken by models of what were probably the planes the Colonel had flown during his time as an active duty pilot. In the center was giant bay window with the blinds close behind a cedar desk, polished to a shine. The left wall held file cabinets that were probably the files on each and every cadet here at Heirlark.

The gray haired commander sat behind the desk and motioned for Forrest to do likewise. As he settled himself into the leather chair, the commander began to speak, and his tone told Blaze that it wasn't good,

"Orders have come down from Central," Rivets started," and I don't like them. However, I have no choice in the matter." Brian sat forward, somehow knowing that the commander's next words would pertain to him directly. "Central Command has ordered the activation of all pilots in preparation for something big. I have no clue what. I asked someone higher on the food chain than me and he isn't squawking." The weight of the Colonel's words hit Brian at that moment,

"Sir, what do you mean 'activation of all pilots?'" he asked, wondering how he fit in with this, he was already an active combat pilot. Colonel Rivets smiled, glad the pilot had caught on to what he was trying to say.

"What I mean, Lieutenant, is that, effective today, all pilots at this base are hereby transferred to Sand Island for immediate advanced training and combat deployment." A silence fell over the two veteran pilots as they sat there and regarded each other. Finally, Forrest broke the silence,

"Sir, permission to speak."

"Granted."

"Sir, has Central lost their collective minds? Sending _trainees_ that haven't even begun ACM into _combat_!? They'll be slaughtered like so many lambs!" The older man smiled and nodded.

"I know, Lieutenant, and I'm glad that you do as well. Unfortunately, Central doesn't. You are to take the nuggets with you back to Sand Island when you leave tomorrow morning. What is your departure time?" Forrest slumped, knowing that there was no way for him to avoid this. This had come straight from the top in Oured.

"0640, sir."

"I will make sure that the nuggets are ready to leave by then. Until then, you are dismissed." Brian nodded, defeated, and stood. He heaved himself into the position of attention and saluted. Rivets returned the salute and Brian did a crisp about face and marched out of the room. Now he had to find his wingmen to tell them the trip back to base would take _much_ longer than they could have ever expected.

"WHAT!?" Nagase yelled, surprising everyone. Normally it was Chopper was the one who yelled about things. "Has HQ _lost their minds!?_" Archer and Chopper could only nod in agreement, Chopper, for once, at a loss for words.

"I know, I know," Blaze said softly, trying to sooth everyone's shock and calm them down. "But the fact of the matter is that we don't have a choice in the matter. Colonel Rivets was ordered directly by Central Command to make this move. Hopefully, Perrault would be able to find someone with Bartlett's teaching ability. He mentioned this to the others, which made Chopper burst out laughing.

"Yeah right, man," he said, the doubt clear in his voice. "Like that fat pig will want someone who will stand up to him teaching the nuggets! He'll get someone he can push around so he get the results _he_ wants, not what the nuggets _need_." The other three nodded at the statement. Colonel Perrault just wanted to move up the command and get himself the General stars that no one wanted him to have.

"Whatever. We have no choice. We're not gonna get anywhere just saying 'what if' or 'why'," Blaze said wearily. "All of you, we have an early day tomorrow. There isn't anything we can do, so we're just going to have to work extra hard to keep the nuggets from getting themselves or their flight lead killed." At his squad's nods he got up and went to the room appropriated for him, Chopper and Archer. He set the alarm next to the bed and went to sleep.

All to soon for Brian's liking, the alarm was ringing and he was up. The man had slept in his flight suit, so he pulled his boots on and laced them up. As he stepped out into the frigid early morning air, he couldn't help but think that he was going to lead these nuggets straight to an untimely death. He entered the hangar that house their F-22s and found Grimm already there, doing a 360 walkaround on his bird. The two comrades nodded to each other and Blaze began his own pre-flight. As time progressed, the other two showed up and looked their planes over.

The hangar doors opened and Wardog Squadron taxied out of the shelter and moved for the runway. As they rolled past the other hangars, Blaze could see the nuggets getting ready, bring their F-5s to life, or moving to follow them, depending on their takeoff time and their skill level.

"Heirlark Tower, Wardog flight holding short runway 9." He called. Tower came back almost immediately,

"Wardog flight, Heirlark Tower, position and hold, runway 9," said the controller.

"Position and hold runway 9." The Four Wings of Sand Island took their places on the runway and waited for clearance.

"Wardog flight, cleared for takeoff." Blaze complied and moved the throttles to full military power and began to move down the runway. Once he was clear of his squadmates, he lit the afterburners and lifted off into the rapidly brightening sky.

* * *

And that's it for Ch.4. Read and review. 

Glossary:

**ACM: **Air Combat Manuveuvering. Unlike BFM, which is just learning the basics, ACM entails learning to fight the airplane, which is altogether different.

**MRE:** Meal Ready to Eat. Exactly as it sounds. Never had one myself. I will eventually though. Going Air Force. Ask any military friend of yours what they taste like, I can't help you there.

**MIRV:** Multiple Independent Reentry Vehicles. Usually associated with nukes. The nose cone of the missile blows off and scatters up to eighteen independent warheads, each with a fully functioning payload. (Thanks to Heliopolis for correcting me on this.)

**Bandits, 080 at 45: **The radio short-hand way of saying Bandits at heading 080, distance 45 nautical miles.

**VTOL:** Vertical Takeoff and Landing. What the Harrier and the F-35C are best known for. The two planes can takeoff straight up. All they need is a flat piece of ground or deck to work off of.


	5. Birds of Peace and stupid nuggets

Disclaimer: I still own nothing.

Last time: Blaze and Wardog go to Heirlark after surviving the Scinfaxi's attack. Once there, Blaze gets some shocking orders, he is to take all the trainees back to Sand Island for immediate deployment.

This time: Wardog defends the Arkbird and Blaze has to deal with a troublesome nugget.

* * *

"Wardog flight, fly right downwind runway 3 left, tower will call base," The tower ordered to the fifty or so planes orbiting in the airspace. If the controller was alarmed by the massive number of fighters that he had to sequence into land, it didn't show in his voice. Good thing that Anderson Air Base had three runways.

"Fly right downwind runway 3 Left. Tower has base. Wilco," Blaze rattled off as he and his three other Raptors rolled away from the cloud of trainees and arced into the landing pattern, parallel to the runway with a giant white 3L on one end.

"Alpha flight, fly left downwind runway 3 Right. Base turn at your discretion. Wardog turn base runway 3 Left."

"A-alpha flight, turn left downwind to 3 Right." The trainee was clearly nervous about having to land at an airbase other than Heirlark. Forrest couldn't see why. They had been forced to land at every damn airbase along their route back to Sand Island, all because the nuggets could barely handle keeping their planes in the air and not smacking themselves into the runway, much less be able to link up to a KC-135 in anything less than smooth conditions.

It wasn't really that hard. Landing that is. If you had paid attention and actually studied the procedure, you would be able to make the runway. Even if the landing was a little harsh on the airframe, but if you could walk away from it, it was a good landing. At least, that was the philosophy that Blaze followed.

"Wardog roger, making base turn to runway 3 Left." He decided that it would be a good time to answer tower so the man could get on with the sequencing of nuggets. Hopefully none of them would crash and burn. None had. Yet. They still had almost four hours before arriving at Sand Island and Blaze wanted to make one last stop on the way, just to make sure that the nuggets had enough fuel to make a couple of go-arounds.

The runways at the atoll on which the Sand Island base sat left no room for error. You either made the runway and lived or went off the end and drowned. It was that simple. Both runways were at _least_ six thousand plus feet, but it didn't matter. Just the fact that the nuggets would be able to kill themselves six different ways on _landing_ was enough to make Brian want to reach for some asprin.

Wardog landed on the assigned runway and taxied off to the fueling station. It hadn't been that hard. Forrest hadn't even paid attention. He had been watching the nuggets as they tried to line up on centerline and make it look as easy as he did. They seriously wanted to impress the veteran pilots, but Blaze knew that Edge was just going to make sure that they did OK. Chopper just didn't care and Grimm was still a nugget himself, not able to make the necessary critiques that the nuggets so desperately needed.

Once parked, Blaze popped his canopy and watched as the nuggets made their landing attempts. He had to shake his head as Echo flight's lead plane tried to make a landing, but came in _way_ too steep and was forced to go around. Delta wasn't faring much better. They had managed to get on the ground OK, but the number three hadn't done a big enough flare and, as a result, did a flat three point landing instead of the nice two point on the main gear that he was supposed to do.

Pops wouldn't be happy when maintenance got a hold of these planes. Especially if the nuggets kept almost crashing like this. All four of the Wardog pilots had cringed when Foxtrot flight's one _and_ four had done porpoising. That was where a pilot landed on his main gear, but due to excess speed or something like that, his nose gear kept bouncing off the runway. The poor nose wheel could only take so much abuse, which is why, one, you landed on your main gear, and two, all nuggets were given carrier-capable aircraft. A lot harder to fuck up the parts on them when they were designed to essentially crash on to the flight deck of an aircraft carrier.

"Wow!" Davenport muttered as he saw the two bouncing planes. He shook his head in embarrassment. "Were we ever that bad?"

"I don't think so," Blaze responded. "I can't ever remember poroising like that. Flying has always been kind of easy for me." The other three pilots nodded their agreement. Even Grimm, the newest member to Wardog, was way ahead of these guys. Of course, he had more hours in a plane and some had combat experience, but Forrest had seen him doing takeoffs and landings sometimes when they were at Sand Island. The newbie pilot wasn't all that bad. The former Mobius 1 could agree with those who called Archer a golden arm. The guy really did have talent.

"Well, I don't know about you," Chopper said, stretching his back, "but I've been stuck in an airplane for three hours and I'm sick of it. I'm gonna hit the break room." That got agreements from every one and the four pilots headed for the break room, and the vending machines that the room held.

The Wardog pilots entered the blessed air conditioning of the main base facilities and made a beeline for the break room. It was a bright room, full of natural sunlight from the huge windows on the wall and gave off a warm feeling thanks to the dark paint and carpet. It had plush leather sofas and chairs, reading lights and plants and a good number of vending machines with a huge array of snacks and drinks.

"Damn! This is way better than what we have back at Sand Island!" Chopper yelled. It was true. That fat base commander of theirs was always pinching pennies and amenities were the first to go. Their break room was white tile and walls and more often than not, the vending machines were either broken or empty. That led to great resentment of the commander and the pilots there were always transferring out the moment they got a chance. Bartlett had been there only because the man had pissed off too many stars, if you got the meaning.

"Glad you like it," said a voice from behind them. The four pilots whirled and saw the commander standing there. After the customs had been rendered and answered, the base commander continued, "We just had it redone about a month ago. I find that a pilot flies best when they're happy."

"That's a subtlety that many commanders miss sir," Nagase said, clearly surprised that they had met two base commanders in such a short amount of time.

The commander laughed, "Perhaps. You four are from Sand Island?"

"Yes sir," Blaze answered. The commander shook his head.

"I knew Perrault when we were just junior officers. He hasn't changed at all by the sound of it. He never did really think about his men."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was always trying to further his own ends."

"That's too bad," Grimm said. "What kind of commander does that?"

"One who's a politician first and a commander second," the Colonel answered, "It's too bad that that type of commander is becoming more and more common in the OADF. But I digress; I need you four to follow me. I have a mission that requires your skills."

* * *

"Our military has decided to deploy the Arkbird," that statement was met with surprise from everyone in the room. The Arkbird was essentially a giant sled used to ferry materials and personnel to the space station that was currently being built by both Yuktobania and Osea and various minor nations, however, with the outbreak of war between the Yukes and Osea, the project had been put, understandably, on hold.

"The Arkbird will be fitted with a laser that Osea is about to launch in three hours from the Mass Driver. Our intelligence has pointed to the very high probability that the Yukes know of this, and intend to stop us. Wardog is to help the forces already in place and defend the base from any attack. All inexperienced combat pilots are barred from taking off. They're still kids for god's sake!" With that, the Colonel saluted and departed, leaving Wardog to suit up and get ready to fly into harm's way once again.

* * *

"Captain, are we launching too?" the nugget questioned. Blaze sighed as he continued on through his checklists and answered the young pilot with a simple question without looking up,

"Are you in that big of a hurry to die?" By the utter silence next to him, the pilot knew he'd shut the newbie up. He knew he had a slight reputation as an aloof and cold commander. It didn't matter to him, as long as his wingmen knew differently and trusted him to get the job done and keep them alive. They would all be going into the air superiority load. And since the space center was close enough to the base to let them have a decent time on station and not need those damn drop tanks that only added weight. Yes, it was fuel, but in combat, heavier meant less maneuverable and that meant death in a potentially survivable situation.

"S-sir?" the nugget asked, his indignity at being asked that making him a little mad, "How can you ask that? I'm the best in my class! I can hold my own! You won't need to watch me!"

That did it. Blaze got mad. So this nugget thought he was shit hot did he? Time to put an uppity pilot in his place, "Yes. We will need to watch you. I protect Edge. She keeps me safe. The same goes for Chopper and Archer. We cover and protect each other. We also know how to work as a team. You do not. You can barely even fly right now." He saw the look of indignate fury on the nugget's face. He sighed. "You think the enemy will care that you are the best in your class? He won't care. He'll just see you as an easy way to pretty up his kill count."

The ace knew what he was talking about. How many times had he gone after the lone plane as both Blaze and Mobius 1? He'd lost count. That was how he'd killed Yellow 4. He'd seen her lagging back with a bad engine and had capitalized on the advantage. That was war. You didn't fight fair. It was kill or be killed. That was the one thing you couldn't forget. Lose sight of that and you would either die or get someone else killed.

"Sir! Let me go! I can do it!" Forrest sighed. He just didn't get it. Fine, he wanted to be stubborn? OK. Blaze could play dirty.

"It doesn't matter if you can do it or not. The Colonel has ordered that no trainees are to launch. Even if he hadn't ordered it, I wouldn't let you. Fighter pilots are known for their egos, but the ones who live are the ones who leave it on the ground when they climb the ladder. You cannot do that; therefore, it stands to reason that you will die. And I won't let any of my wingmen get killed because they had to bail your ass out. Now move. I have to close the canopy." He held the switch that lowered the canopy down and in a moment was shut off from the arrogant trainee's sputtering retorts about how he didn't know what he was talking about.

'Stupid bastard,' Brian fumed, nothing pissed him off more than a pilot like this one. He'd never been like that. Sure he was proud of his skill as a pilot, but he let his actions speak for him. He didn't need to bark when he could bite. 'I'll have to dogfight him later and put him in his place.' He snapped his mask into place and forgot about the incident, deciding to leave the argument on the ground.

* * *

"Charlie Control, Wardog flight checking in," Blaze called, using the callsign the Colonel had given them. The flight had just reached their ops area and was preparing to set in to some sort of racetrack in the sky. The military called it Combat Air Patrol. Blaze called it death by boredom. Nothing could dull the senses like flying a circle for hours on end. Thankfully they were just past fifteen to launch time. A half hour here, fifteen minutes on station, and a half hour back. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Roger Wardog. Settle into your CAP pattern and standby."

"Wilco. Okay Wardog, you heard the man, Chopper, you and Archer take the upwind leg and Edge and I'll take the downwind leg." The three other pilots clicked their mikes and the two F-22s to Blaze's right peeled off and headed for the other side of the Mass Driver.

"Alright. Let's go, Nagase."

"Yes sir." The four jets began to run the racetrack, slowly expanding the pattern until they were encompassing the entire space center. Now all the Controller had to do was tell them and at least one element should be in position to take out whatever decided to try and stop the launch. With only ten minutes left, it was starting to seem as if the intel had been wrong (no surprise there). The pilots were beginning to get tired of just flying in circles and all four of them were beginning to talk to each other over the comm

"So anyway, my sister decides to call me when she's plastered to hell and…" Brian just blocked out Chopper's voice as he told Grimm about (one) of the times he sister had gotten drunk and called him.

"I dunno what's worse, Nagase," Blaze muttered, still bored, "Flying in circles or listening to Chopper's stories."

"Well you never know…" She was cut off by Charlie Controller's voice.

"C-130s are inbound. No IFF squawk. Confirmed! Enemy inbound! More contacts detected out over the water! Having a hard time getting a radar signature off of them!" Everyone switched gears in a hurry. The moment the controller stopped talking, Blaze got on the comms and started giving orders,

"Roger. Edge, you and I are closer to the water. We'll take the stealths. Chopper, Archer, you two take out those C-130s. I don't know what the Yukes have up their sleeves by sending cargo planes. Be prepared for anything! Stay heads up for fighters! GO!" The four fighters scattered and Blaze flicked the Master Arm switch on.

"You're sure that the unknowns are stealth, Blaze?" Edge asked.

"Yeah, he can't get a good fix on them can he? Name one plane besides a stealth that can evade radar these days." When they finally got within range, Blaze found that they couldn't get a decent lock with the AMRAAMs.

'Guess we have to do it the old fashioned way,' Blaze thought to himself. He flicked his selector switch over to guns. If the AMRAAMs couldn't get a decent lock, chances were that the Sidewinders wouldn't fare much better. They finally found their targets and Blaze was able to pick out the black wing shapes of the B-2 Spirit stealth bomber.

"Let's get 'em Edge!"

"Roger, Edge engaging."

"Blaze, engaging." An excited whoop cut over the radio,

"Chopper, splash one!"

"Archer, kill confirmed. Let's get the next one!" The battle began to heat up. Five minutes later, the airspace was clear. The only problem was that some of the C-130s had managed to drop their payloads. Turns out the payload was tanks that were light enough to be dropped by parachute. Try that with one of ISAF's Abrams and you would give the tank crew one hell of a heart attack just before they hit the ground and were crushed even worse than the tank would be.

Now the flight was engaged in trying to kill the tanks. Blaze was running on an empty gun. The B-2s had eaten all the rounds he'd been carrying on the mission. Now he was just trying to find another way to be useful. If there was one thing a pilot of the same caliber as Mobius 1 hated, it was to be helpless. The controllers in the space center were trying to scrub the launch, but a tirade from both Blaze and Chopper got the scientists to go and now they were a scant twenty seconds away from launch. Finally, the SSTO sitting on the track began to move, going faster and faster as the electromagnetic magnets mounted in the rails forced the laser module closer to its destination, which was visible even now.

Arkbird used the upper atmosphere to change its direction by giving its flight surfaces enough to work with. The thing also had RCS jets mounted all over it, but they were mostly used for keeping the thing in position while astronauts shuttled back and forth moving the supplies in zero g. Now the white ship had descended far enough for the SSTO to reach and dock with it.

Forrest's blood ran cold when he saw a tank's turret swivel and belch a long plume of smoke and flame. That meant that the shell was on its way. A fraction of a second later, the HE round exploded _behind_ the SSTO as the mass driver continued to do its job and, a couple of tense seconds later, the laser left the mass driver and its rocket motor ignited, hurling the multi-ton module like it weighed no more that a piece of paper.

Edge frowned as her teammates whooped and hollered, happy that they had completed another mission successfully. She did like the fact that she was alive, but why did the President have to order the Arkbird to be militarized? Sure they needed a way to counter that missile that the Yukes had, but the Arkbird was also known as the bird of peace. Why did such a thing have to trade its olive branch for claws? It was a crime. She hoped that someday she would be able to ask the President why. She would get her chance in a few days, though she didn't know it at the time.

But now she had to return to the base and make sure the nuggets got back to Sand Island okay. She really felt bad for the newbies. They had been thrown into a war before they had even made it through basic pilot training. Now they had to learn _real_ fast or they would die in their first engagement. She didn't want that to happen. Nagase knew that one of the nuggets had managed to get himself on Blaze's bad side. She had seen the argument as Forrest had done his start up. Edge really hoped her Captain hadn't been _too_ harsh on the cocky cadet. Blaze's voice slice through her headset,

"Charlie Control, Wardog flight, we've run out of ammo. Permission to RTB." They were going back. Now the second leg of their flight to Sand Island could start.

"Roger that Wardog, Permission to RTB granted. We can handle the tanks, seems the Yukes thinned out the armor to reduce weight. Our RPGs are going right through."

"Roger that. Wardog flight is checking out. Good luck," with that, Edge fell into position off and a little behind of Blaze's left wing. She watched the man closely. She couldn't see that much, seeing as her position limited her view and he had his visor and mask in place. Speaking of the mask, she unsnapped the thing that covered her mouth. The snaps gave and it swung down to hang by her mouth, allowing her to breath the airplane's atmosphere instead of the sterile smelling oxygen the O2 bottles in the jet gave her. Blaze rocked his wings and Edge rolled onto her side and pulled before rolling out on the heading that would take her home.

* * *

Blaze lifted the nose of his jet a little and felt a gentle shock run through the Raptor as the main gear kissed the runway. He kept the nose up as the fighter continued to bleed off airspeed before the nose lowered on its own and sent a second tremor through the jet. Now he pulled back on the stick. The Raptor was below its rotation point and wouldn't fly anymore, but pulling back also helped to shed energy, allowing him to engage his brakes and turn onto the taxiway. He waited for the other three to catch up to him before contacting the ground controller for the base,

"Anderson Ground, Wardog is holding short at Echo 4. Taxi back to hangar for preparation for departure."

"Roger Wardog. Taxi to hangar via Echo 4, Echo, Foxtrot 4, Foxtrot." Blaze nodded to himself and repeated the controller's instructions back to him, before he pushed his throttles forward a little and began to head back to the shelter that had been appropriated for Wardog's use. The moment the engines began to spool down, the maintenance crews were all over the four jets, getting them refueled and prepped for their departure, which was supposed to happen as soon as the turnaround was complete.

"Captain!" It was that damn cocky trainee again. The man was stalking towards them, his face clearly saying that he wanted to continue the argument from before. Blaze sighed, he was tired of the nuggets. He really was. But if this one continued to be a problem, he'd find a JDAM dropped through his window from ten thousand feet. "Sir, why didn't you allow me to launch!?"

"We've been over this," Blaze sighed. Really, was this really all that necessary? He'd made himself quite clear.

"I would have made a difference."

"You would have died."

"Against _cargo planes?_"

"That had fighter escorts. If you really want to see what would have happened, we can square off once we get back to Sand Island." The Wardog's eyes widened when Blaze said that. That was a good way to squash a trainee's self-esteem. But the other three pilots also knew that Blaze was just doing this for the arrogant bastard's own good. Better to have a pouting trainee than a dead one.

"Fine. And I'll show you what I can do!"

"I look forward to it." The sarcasm in Blaze's voice was so thick you could have cut it, fried it and served it with dinner. But the trainee was apparently very very thick. He just nodded and walked off.

"Wow! He's gonna be in for a big surprise when Blaze gets done with him," Chopper muttered to Grimm. The newest member of Wardog just nodded, speechless that Blaze could be that scathing. The man was always so laid back, in control. To see him get heated up like that was both scary and very intimidating.

"Blaze, are you sure that you should do this?" Edge asked quietly.

"You want to see him get killed? He's one of those pilots who is so sure of himself that he doesn't see the missile that kills him. I've seen pilots like that before. And every single one of them is dead." With that chilling statement, Blaze went over to the nuggets and told them to suit up and get ready to leave. All the nuggets saluted and almost trampled each other in their attempt to obey the Captain's orders.

* * *

"Sand Island tower, Wardog 1 and Bravo 1 request permission to do a little ACM," Blaze said to the tower. A second or two and the tower came back with the answer,

"ACM practice approved, cleared to five hundred fight," The fighter's peeled away from each other and lined up about five miles apart and turned toward each other. Thankfully, neither plane was carrying ordinace, otherwise Forrest might have _forgotten_ to turn the Master Arm to safe. It fell to Blaze to do the countdown,

"Three…Two…One, FIGHT'S ON!" and he threw the F-22 into a zoom climb. The nugget turned his F-5 hard and climbed as well, trying to aim at the other fighter, but the little fighter just didn't have the brute force that the Raptor did. That left the nugget stalling and tumbling toward the sea below and the F-22 in the perfect position to reverse and 'shoot down' the tumbling Tiger.

Edge, who was watching the battle from the ground with everyone else, knew that when Blaze didn't reverse to end it, he was going to drag this out and show the nugget how outclassed he was. She also couldn't figure out what Blaze had said earlier at Anderson Air Base.

'What did he mean he's seen fighter pilots like that before? He was at fighter school with us. I remember. But he may be old enough. He's twenty-six. But how does that fit?' She decided that she would have to look into all the wars that happened within the last five to seven years and see if she could figure out the mystery.

Up in the sky, Blaze reversed again. This little guy couldn't keep up with him. That was because Blaze was more experienced and had a better fighter to go with his skill. The nugget was on his tail, that much was true, but only because Forrest let him be there. And now he wasn't welcome anymore. Brian rolled onto his back and pulled hard. As expected, the nugget tried to match the maneuver, but the 22's thrust vectoring system allowed him to make a tighter pull and spit the other pilot out. Now Blaze reversed again and the tables were turned in less than twenty seconds.

The nugget went to pieces. He had obviously been taken by surprise and had no idea where Blaze had gone. By the time he'd figured it out, Blaze had his pipper on him and had radioed the guns kill. It was over. Blaze had had total command of the battle; even the nuggets had seen it. All of them were cheering like crazy when the disgruntled rookie pilot and the ISAF ace touched down a few minutes later and taxied over.

"Now do you all see?" Everyone fell silent to listen to what the Captain they all had gained immense respect for had to say. "Just because you get good grades in the classroom doesn't mean that you can beat a real pilot. If you remember what you've seen today, you'll all be able to survive. If you see a battle you can't win, bug out. Better to run and live than to fight and get yourself and anyone with you killed." Now Forrest headed for the ready room to get out of this damn g-suit and go to someplace where he could relax.

Pops grinned as he saw Blaze completely school the nugget. He had been proud to find out that his warrior's instinct hadn't died after years of not being able to fly and fight. He'd seen Blaze in complete control and had felt his jaw drop at the utter crispness and brilliance of the final seconds. That hadn't been Brian Forrest of Wardog squadron flying in that instant. It had been Brian Forrest the legendary ace known worldwide as Mobius 1. That poor nugget hadn't stood a chance. And there the ace was now.

"Nice job, Kid," Pops said grinning. The other man nodded with a half smile. "So was that how you used to fly in the old days?" The older man couldn't help himself. He just had to know.

"Was it really that suprising?" Blaze asked. He hadn't really done anything that amazing. Had he?

"Yeah. I couldn't have kept up with it. You would be able to shoot men down in heartbeat. I think you could go toe to toe with the Demon Lord and live to tell about it. And no one managed to escape from him alive." Blaze laughed.

"I hope so. He was the reason I joined ISAF in the first place. I saw the Allied blitz on the Round Table and saw him just tearing apart the Belkan fighters."

"Damn straight he did. I can't even begin to tell you how many fighter pilots I saw freeze up when they saw that blue Eagle. Like I said, no one got away from him alive. 'Course, I've heard the same thing said about you." The former Mobius 1 cocked an eyebrow at that.

"Really. I let plenty of fighters go. It just happened that they decided to eject." He shook his head. Really, how did these rumors get started anyway?

"Yeah, I know. That documentary I saw on vacation showed me that," the older man gave Forrest a sideways glance. "How many did you let get away?"

"A fair few. If they had the sense to bug out instead of trying to take me out, I let them go. Attempt to kill me and I'll shoot you down. That was how I worked. How about you?"

"I just followed orders. If they told me to shoot them down, I shot them down. I never shot a friendly. They had Shwartze squadron for that. They chased me into the Round Table during that battle."

"What happened?" Pops had been there? That was new. Blaze couldn't help but wonder what had become of the pilot and the squadron that had chased him.

"The Demon Lord and his wingman, Solo-Wing Pixy, shot them down and another ace from a squadron known as Grabacr got me. I ejected and that's how Bartlett and I met."

"You both parachuted down into the Round Table?"

"Yep. And lemme tell you, you never want to get shot down there. Real hard to survive. There's not much there to live off of." Pops noticed that Nagase was coming. "Well that's all I got for you now, Kid. Looks like you have another mission." Blaze turned around and went to meet Nagase.

"What's up?" he asked. She looked really troubled.

"Blaze, we've got a problem."

"What?"

"There's an invasion force on the way." Forrest didn't ask for any explanation, he just double-timed it over to the briefing room to see what Perrault was going to do about this.

* * *

And so endeth the fifth chapter. My updates are going to start to slow down. I'm going home for Christmas and, since I've been losing interest in this fic, will be playing Ace Combat 5 and 04 to try and regain my interest and so will not have as many hours to devote to this fic as I normally do. Fear not, I shall not abandon this fic. That would let all you guys down and I refuse to do that. After all, I posted this fic because I wanted people to read it. Reviews also help. Not because it makes my story look good, but because it lets me know that I'm not just writing this for nothing.

**Glossary:**

**Combat Air Patrol:** Exactly as described by Blaze. Can be used for anything from a KC-135 tanker to refuel pretty much anything in the modern military's inventory to fighters enforcing a no-fly zone.

**Fight's on:** Used by two comrades doing combat training. Signifies the beginning of the dogfight.

**RPG:** Stands for Rocket Propelled Grenade. Basically a shell in a tube. Real simple and cheap, which is why the terrorists use them.

**KC-135:** When I say tanker, this is probably what you think of. If you picture the one in Ace Combat, you're WRONG! That is a KC-10.

**C-130:** Ever seen the US Navy's flight team the Blue Angels? The fat and ugly looking thing that hauls all their equipment around is one of these. If you still can't picture it, search it on YouTube.

**JDAM: **Pronounced Jay-dam. A cheap tail kit that is strapped onto the back of any GP (General Purpouse) bombs. Makes it smart. Depending on the size of the bomb, it can take out anything from a convoy to a building. Accurate too. Y'know that building? Pick the window this sucker goes through.

**SSTO: **Single Stage To Orbit. The thing that shoots off the mass driver in the Arkbird Part 1 mission in Ace 5.


	6. That Sinking Feeling

Disclaimer: I own all! I wish. Got nothing.

Last time: Wardog successfully gets the laser module up to Arkbird and Blaze shows an uppity nugget what it means to really dogfight. Edge, reflecting on Blaze's past actions and words, gets a little suspicious of his identity.

This time: The Wardog launches to defend the island. Scinfaxi attacks and Edge's suspicions continue to grow.

* * *

"Ah, you people are like the plague, you know that?" Blaze scowled heavily at the base commander's words. Really, he was losing more and more respect for the man as time went on. Making comments like that, even in jest, were a sure way to kill morale, and experienced base commanders knew that keeping your pilots happy was key. Maybe Blaze should file for a transfer to another unit? Nah. That would tear apart the cohesion that the Wardog had built up during all these hectic events. That, in turn, would possibly cost Osea the war by tearing apart their most experienced and most effective unit. 

Edge listened with half an ear as the commander and intel officer droned on about what to do with the onrushing Yuke task force. Most of her attention was focused on the head of dark hair in front of her. What was Blaze hiding? Was he even _hiding_ anything or was she just overreacting? Perhaps the comment had been made to scare young ears. Somehow, Kei didn't think so. Blaze had meant what he was talking about. Something in his eyes just screamed it. Normally, his eyes were kind and warm, if a little solemn. That time though, in the instant she'd met his gaze, they were icy and cold. A winter storm in the Arctic had more warmth.

Then there was Pops. Nagase hadn't thought that Blaze and the old mechanic were really that close, but when she'd found her commander, he'd been having a conversation with the old man that sounded pretty serious. The duo had also shut up and let it go the moment Pops had spotted her. What could be so important that they couldn't talk around her? Maybe they were discussing top-secret information? But if that was the case, then why talk in plain sight? Shouldn't that type of thing be discussed behind closed doors? Ah, the whole damn thing made her head hurt. Best to keep it simple and start with any previous wars Blaze might have fought in.

"Well!?" Perrault shouted to the room, full of nuggets and experienced vets, "Get going! Protect our base!" The simple phrase sent the room into a flurry of activity as pilots jumped up and almost trampled each other in their mad dash for their planes. They had to get going first or be caught up in the traffic frenzy that was coming. The Wardog aces formed a kind of wedge and shoved through, then sprinted for their Raptors, which were waiting with a mechanic beside each one.

Blaze blessed whatever god was watching him. It would have been a real pain if he'd taken off his g-suit from before and then had to turn around and put it back on again.

"Ready to go?" Pops' voice said from beside him. Brian didn't answer at first as he was too busy with one of the more complex parts of the start up checklist. Good thing he'd committed it to memory long ago. Made everything go faster.

"Yeah. I'm getting tired of this. War sucks. I just wanted to fly in peaceful skies for once." His hands flew over the various panels inside the plane with next to no hesitation or stopping. Pops laughed as he handed the Ribbon his helmet, which, by coincidence, was sky blue, the same color as his infamous emblem.

"Sure, Kid. And if we were at peace, you'd be saying that you wanted some action," the older man replied, shaking his head. "Admit it, Blaze. You live for the challenge of combat." The younger man snorted as he clipped his harness to the straps on the hard ejection seat.

"Sure. What challenge? There is no real challenge in war for me," he got a far off look in his blue eyes. "Not since Yellow Thirteen." Pops just smiled and gave Forrest a final once over before descending the roll-away ladder and proceeded to pull the chocks.

The middle-aged pilot watched with pride as his students started their F-22s and rolled away, heading for the runway. He squinted as hot, smelly, jet wash hit him a moment later. The Belkan turned and sprinted toward the gun locker that the Security Forces on Sand Island used. It wasn't really regulation, but Pops had gone to an Army base and gotten pretty handy with an M-16. He wasn't a good marksman, but he would be able to at least gun down a few enemies before they got him. If they made it this far. The Raven was pretty confident that Mobius 1 would shred the enemy fleet the same way he'd torn apart the Erusian fleet five years ago.

"Blaze engage."

"Edge engaging."

"Chopper engage."

"Archer engage." One by one, the four aces sounded off and began to do battle with the enemy carrier planes that were currently filling the skies. As he swerved and jinked to get his pipper on the F-18 that was currently flying like a madman to get out from in front of him, Forrest couldn't help but keep flicking his gaze around. Something was making him uneasy again. The last time this had happened, he'd been attacked by those freaky missiles from Scinfaxi. He couldn't help but feel like the same thing was about to happen again.

The F-18 Split-S'ed in front of him. Forrest didn't bother to follow. There was no need.

"Blaze, Splash One. Literally." The Hornet had been too low to possibly have a chance at pulling off such a maneuver. As an added bonus, since he'd been reacting to Blaze, the collision between fighter and ocean counted as a kill for him. Too bad it didn't happen more often. Less ammunition for him to waste.

'Ego, Forrest, ego,' he told himself. Fighter pilots were well known for their enormous egos. Brian had taken one look at that and vowed on the spot not to let it do the same to him. The result was him being a better fighter pilot in that he was able to recognize a bad situation beforehand and work to counter it. And if that wasn't possible, it let him retreat with much less prompting than some other pilots. Like Chopper, or Omega 1. Those two pilots needed huge prodding from AWACS to get them moving to bug out. Not a good situation if one encountered someone with the skill level of the Yellows.

"Echo 1, launching Harpoon." Forrest took the time to watch as the missile flew from the little Tiger and skimmed mere feet above the waves. Blaze had always liked the Harpoon and the next second showed why, the white streak suddenly blew skyward, accelerating straight up before nosing over and going into a death dive. The cruiser that the nugget had targeted was rocked by a devastating explosion and began to list.

'Real inventive,' Blaze thought, 'designing a missile to go after the traditionally weakest part of any warship.' The deck armor was usually much thinner that the armor on the hull and allowed a missile or a bomb to go right through and do some major damage to the interior. Even a carrier could be sunk like this if enough Harpoons made it through the flight deck and penetrated the hangar below.

"This is Thunderhead, roger, keep destroying the enemies forces. Our Security Forces are having a pretty easy time with the invaders that made it through." Some of the ships had managed to launch old style landing craft, but the Security Forces were dug in deep and had machine gunned all the Yuke troops as they had emerged. That was what the Yukes got by using old tech to try and pinch some pennies.

"Blaze engage," Forrest called, finally finding a Harrier to go after. It struck him as odd that the Yukes would be using Harriers. Blaze was under the impression that the Jump Jet, as the Harrier was also known, couldn't make it all the way out here. Last he checked, the thing was short-range and needed a landing craft or good-sized cruiser to launch from. There wasn't anything like that in the fleet that was assaulting them. He had yet to see a Harrier launch from any of these ships.

* * *

"Edge, got another one." That brought her total up to…Ah, Nagase had lost count. She didn't know how many aircraft she'd splashed since this damn war started. She knew that she and Chopper were aces and Grimm was close. Blaze was a double ace, he _had _to be, seeing as he'd splashed way more than ten planes since his kills had actually started to count. 

Speaking of her flight lead, she saw a missile burn its way from his Raptor to the AV-8 in front of him. The slow mud-mover exploded wondrously, being as laden as it was with bombs and fuel.

"That's another for Blaze," she called, letting everyone in the area know so her lead could get credit for the kill. But maybe he didn't need it. She was starting to have doubts that she knew who Blaze was. Sure, he'd told her that he was from ISAF and that the…Wait! Maybe that was it!

All the comments that he'd said that seemed to betray that Blaze was a more experienced pilot than he let on, what he'd told her after the missile attacks, and his friendship with Pops. He was from ISAF, he _was _old enough to have flown for them. Sure, he said that he'd moved here when he was a kid, but was that really true? It took money to emigrate from somewhere and Forrest had always struck her as more of a middle-class type of person. Was it possible that he really _was_ a kickass ace running from his past? And there was only one ace that she knew of from ISAF. Mobius 1. Was it possible that Blaze and Mobius 1 were really one and the same? She would need to do some digging, find out who Brian Forrest really was. If it turned out that he really was just an emigrant, then she would let it go. If it turned out he was Mobius 1, well, Blaze had some explaining to do.

* * *

"LAUNCH OF BURST MISSILE DETECTED!?" Thunderhead's panicked voice wasn't doing the nuggets any favors. They all started yelling and screaming to each other, asking what was going on. While Edge tried to calm them down and get them to climb, Blaze, Chopper, and Archer rammed their throttles to the firewall and put their fighters into almost seventy degree climbs, clawing through the atmosphere like bats out of hell for five thousand feet. They passed it in a matter of just a few seconds but kept going, trying to get enough altitude for a dogfight, just in case some of the Yuke planes got any ideas. Edge joined them a few seconds later, still yelling at the nuggets, who seemed to have forgotten what a climb was. 

"Wait, what the hell's this?" Thunderhead asked to no one. "'Data uplink initiated to A-sat targeting computer?'" a few seconds passed and the puzzled AWACS came back up, "Now it's counting down by itself…ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four."

Blaze listened with a pounding heart as the count hit zero. The moment it did, a flash lit the sky and continued to shine out the left side of his canopy. When the ISAF ace looked, he felt his blood run cold. A shaft of light had split the sky in two. The laser had also split the missile. Blaze could see it, in two smoking, useless halves, spinning toward the ocean below.

"What was that?" Chopper demanded of no one, "Did you see that, Kid?"

"Sure did," Blaze answered, his voice clearly startled by the turn of events. "It sliced the missile in half. No danger of detonation. Thunderhead, can you tell us where it came from?" The answer came not from Thunderhead, but from Nagase,

"Arkbird! It's Arkbird!" Blaze switched channels real fast and listened to the comms intercepts from the Yukes.

"What was that?"

"Where was it?"

"Was this what the bastards launched that day!?"

'They're just as confused as we are,' Blaze realized, also recognizing that there was no other cause for it. They _had_ launched a laser module for Arkbird just a few days ago. It was hooked on in a matter of hours. Allow a few days to get it online and working and, yes, the Arkbird had just fired a spectacular shot for Osea. The ace shook his head at this most recent escalation of the war. How many superweapons did the world need? Excalibur, XB-0, Stonehenge, Megalith, the list just went on, and the worst part was that every time one of these death dealers was fired, countless fine pilots and soldiers suffered and died.

"Attention all Osean forces, this is Arkbird." Blaze's eyes narrowed as the foreign voice came over the radio. The man didn't blame the astronaut. What he blamed was the administration that had decided to turn the world's greatest icon for peace into a weapon of war. He wasn't as passionate as Nagase was about it, but he still didn't like it. "Don't worry about the burst missiles! We can handle 'em!"

"Roger! All forces continue the attack, we have Arkbird. Repeat, we have the Arkbird!" Yells of joy came from the nuggets and the newbie pilots dove once more for their targets. Wardog flight circled like protective eagles watching their children fly for the first time. The four jets would go after any Yuke foolish enough to try for the nuggets or one of them. Chopper saw something breach the water with a huge splash then blast up into the atmosphere riding a column of fire and smoke. He forgot about everything and got on Thunderhead,

"Wardog Three has visual on burst missile." He gave the AWACS the coordinates for the launch, still clearly marked by the ball of smoke that had flared up near the pristine waves when the rocket motor ignited. The fact that the welcoming teal ocean concealed a submarine that could wipe out the entire base wasn't lost on the man.

"Roger, locked on. Beginning datalink. Arkbird, do you have it?" The reply was swift,

"We have lock. Beginning countdown, all aircraft avoid the line of fire. Ten…Nine…Eight…" Forrest was watching the dissipating smoke column and was able to find a glint of metal that was growing larger by the second as the burst missile's propellant was used up and the earth's gravity turned the deadly MIRV back toward its target.

"Arkbird firing laser," Thunderhead reported, a bit unnecessarily in Blaze's opinion. How hard could it be to miss the giant shaft of light that cut the sky in two for a second time. On this round, though, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the missile as it screamed earthward, only to be caught and bisected just like the last one. The nuggets were yelling for joy as the last of them let fly with their Harpoons and went for the few remaining destroyers that were still afloat. Thunderhead's voice boomed over the comms again, and now it held a sense of urgency.

"Scinfaxi launching more missiles. Number three, four, five." Before the nuggets could really start to flip out, Brian's hard voice had sliced into their headsets,

"Get up to five thousand. Now!"

"But Kid," Chopper protested, "Won't Arkbird be able to hit them?"

"Use your head," the pilot of the lead Raptor snapped in return, already throwing his jet into a full power climb, getting as close to the critical angle of attack as he dared. "Arkbird has only one cannon. There are FIVE missiles! All aircraft, get to above five thousand feet! NOW!" His forceful command snapped everyone from whatever stupor the panic had placed them in.

'Just like Stonehenge,' Blaze thought to himself as he felt his body pressed into the ejection seat by the force of his acceleration and climb. 'Dammit! I thought I wouldn't have to do this again!' Now the radio came alive with the panicked screaming and yelling of the nuggets as they tried to match the climb of the four Wardog Raptors. But their little F-5s just couldn't make it up and most stalled and spun, losing precious altitude and time.

"C'mon Arkbird! Use your laser! The nuggets are gonna get killed!" Edge screamed at the orbiting gun platform. Chopper and Grimm also added their own variations of that desperate cry, but Forrest said nothing, knowing deep in his heart of hearts that all the new pilots were doomed to a cruel and early death.

'Maybe a few will survive the explosion.' He thought to himself as the four Raptors finally hit ten thousand feet. He'd given the other three an order just before they headed out to meet this fleet that said to get to above ten thousand in the event of this very scenario. Countless encounters with Stonehenge during his time as Mobius 1 had taught him to be better off safe than sorry, and it stood to reason that if Yuktobania invaded Osea, they would be bringing the Scinfaxi along as a force multiplier.

"Bursting…NOW!" The ISAF ace gritted his teeth, unseen, behind his oxygen mask. Now would come the part that would be haunting his nightmares for the next few months. As the concussion from the massive attack smashed into the four orbiting Raptors, the radios were filled with the dying screams and desperate cries for help as the nuggets were wiped out by the burst missile.

'Dammit! We can't _do_ anything!' Blaze yelled to himself as he watched the explosions below him subside, revealing the countless smoke trails and fireballs that were once the nuggets' planes. This whole burst missile thing was starting to piss him off. If those bastards got into the Inland Sea, they would be able to hold Oured hostage and end the war! This constant fear of burst missile attack was making him feel helpless, and if there was one thing that Forrest hated, the one thing that _any_ pilot hated, it was to be helpless.

"Sea Goblin, dropping sonobuoys." Brian was puzzled by the transmission. Who had told them to do that? What the legendary ace had missed during his cursing of the Scinfaxi was the exchange between Arkbird and the sub-hunting chopper, callsign Sea Goblin. The two parties had come up with the plan to drop the buoys and datalink their information to the Arkbird. A minute passed and, finally, Arkbird began to speak,

"Locked in. Countdown to firing, Ten…Nine…Eight…Seven…Six…Five…" Time slowed down as the countdown got closer to zero. "Arkbird firing laser."

'At what?' Blaze wondered for a second, right before the column of light speared out of nowhere for what seemed like the hundredth time. The ace watched as the beam entered the water with a gout of steam from the laser superheating the seawater. A few quiet seconds passed. Just as Blaze came to the conclusion that the Arkbird had missed its intended target, a giant fountain of spray shot into the air as _something_ broke the surface below them. All the pieces fell into place as Forrest caught sight of the Arkbird's target.

"So that's Scinfaxi," Blaze said aloud as his eyes narrowed behind his visor, staring down at the machine that had plagued the four pilots for so long. The Yuke sub was an odd shape. Instead of the teardrop shape that many attack subs had, Scinfaxi was almost flat-looking from the air. Its shape vaguely reminded Brian of an arrow or dart of some kind. A streamlined bulge in the center just seemed to scream "BRIDGE!" at the ace. As salt water gave the sub's silver hull a fantastic shine, a plan formed in the jumble of thoughts that made his face contort into a sinister smirk that would have looked out of place on the calm pilot's face.

"Wardog, cover me." Ignoring the protests at the sudden order, Blaze dove straight down on enemy vessel bobbing serenely in the water below, it's wake the only sign that the gigantic threat to Osea was moving. He ignored the tracers streaking up at him as plates on the sub's hull opened and exposed hidden triple-A weapons. He could just make out the bone-white telephone poles; better know as SA-6 SAM missiles. They wouldn't be a problem, he was going too fast. The radar operators wouldn't be able to lock him up fast enough. They would be dead before then!

"Blaze! What the hell are you doing!?" Thunderhead and Chopper screamed at him in unison. Nothing mattered to the ace. All that was on his mind was sinking that sub!

"Pull up! Blaze! You don't have any bombs!" Edge was yelling at him now. She was trying to use reason, hoping that little fact to dissuade him. Nothing doing. He was Mobius 1. He'd taken out Stonehenge with a similar loadout. Sinking Scinfaxi would be nothing compared to taking on that ring of rail guns. Blaze's fingers danced on the HOTAS. He had switched to his two AIM-9s. Now would be the best time to launch. A slight growl made Forrest's eyes widen. That sub was pumping out so much heat that the AIM-9 was able to get a faint lock. Arkbird's laser had probably superheated the plates around the neat burn hole near the thin bow. Good. That would make this so much easier.

"Blaze, Fox Two!" The missile blasted from the side bay's pylon and went straight for the bump that was the sub's bridge. The next instant passed and Blaze was close to screaming as he pulled up, nine g's blasting every inch of his body as his bird pulled out of the dive and bottomed out, just before he blew skyward again like the proverbial bat out of hell.

* * *

"Hit…Confirmed?" Wonder was evident in Edge's voice as she witnessed her Captain's seemingly foolhardy and suicidal stunt. The explosion, combined with the sheer kinetic energy given to the missile by the dive and its own rocket motor meant that, in the instant the missile hit, it penetrated the hull just before detonating. Smoke was streaming from the wrecked bridge and Blaze's jet was a speeding silver-gray glint that was climbing as steep as he could, trying to bleed off the extra speed he's gained in his dive. "No way!" That made up her mind, now she was really going to look into Blaze's past.

* * *

"Arkbird, firing laser." Thunderhead stated as the laser split the sky for the third time. The four Wardogs watched as the hull plates over the stern turned cherry red then began to warp and collapse. When the beam had subsided, Scinfaxi's engine compartment had been exposed to the air. The Four Wings of Sand Island weren't stupid. They could see a chance to sink Scinfaxi when the opportunity presented itself. And Arkbird had done just that, like a boxer landing a blow to his foe's stomach so he could ram a haymaker into the opposition's face. The laser sled had provided the set-up and now it was time for Wardog to deliver the haymaker. 

Without the hull plates to mask the engine signature, the flight's AIM-9s were able to get a lock without any problem. Thankfully, they all had at least one heater and some gun rounds. Tracers and smoke plumes roared up at the three Raptors as they dove on the wounded sub, trying to get a good lock on scorching engines.

"Edge, Fox Two!"

"Chopper, Fox Two!"

"Archer, Fox Two!" The three missiles ripped down into the attack sub and detonate with devastating results. Secondary explosions followed the initial blast and thick black smoke began to pour from the trashed stern. The smoke also helped to make escaping the AA and SAMs on the Scinfaxi's deck. But the sub was tougher than it looked and stayed afloat, though the wake disappeared. It was Blaze who delivered the coup d'grace. His Vulcan cannon roared to life, a stream of tracers stretching from his jet that was speeding at just the right height for all the 20mm rounds to go straight into the sub.

The flight's leader evidently hit something good because a thundering explosion tore what remained of the engine room apart and shattered the stern, throwing debris all over. As Mobius 1 did a reversal to clear the explosion, thousands of gallons of seawater poured into the ravaged Scinfaxi and the once mighty sub's narrow bow lifted into the air, revealing that the sub was built more like an iceberg, with most of its bulk resting below the surface. Finally the superweapon slipped beneath the waves in a bubbling of foam and spray. As Wardog formed back up, a third explosion shattered the now-tranquil waters around Sand Island as something combustible gave under the growing ocean pressure, lifting a titanic splash some three hundred feet into the air, and tearing the wreck apart in the process.

'It's finally over,' Blaze thought with relief as he unsnapped his mask and let it dangle. 'Now we can relax. At least for the moment. Something tells me this war is just starting to heat up.' The day was coming to a close. The sun was setting, casting its blood-red glow over the ocean. Sand Island had repelled the assault on their shores due to the combined efforts of the Sand Island Security Forces and the heroic, and some would say impossible, efforts of both Wardog Squadron and the nuggets who were killed in the Scinfaxi's burst missile attack. By the nuggets' Harpoon missile attacks on the advancing Yuke fleet, they had forced the enemy to turn around, and thus stranded the advance forces trying to establish a beachhead on the island. Said advance force, with no reinforcements and stranded in hostile territory, had fought fiercely for close to three hours before finally surrendering to the Oseans. Wardog had lifted the threat of burst missile attack from Osea. Now they could concentrate on taking the fight to the enemy.

No one in the Osean government, nor in the military, could have know that there were in fact _two_ Scinfaxi-class subs roaming the Osean waters. One had been sunk in this battle, but the Hrimfaxi would get her chance to shine in the near future. And the ensuing battle would result in Brian Forrest once again becoming a legend. But that possibility hadn't even occurred to the four aces as they landed back on Sand Island.

* * *

"Okay, lower it down!" The loadmaster's voice was barely audible to Forrest as he stopped the forklift he was driving. He pulled on a lever and the pallet of rubble on the forks made a dull 'thunk' as the wooden frame met the steel rollers in the cargo section of the C-130J Hercules that was sitting on the ramp at Sand Island. A week had passed since the attempted invasion of Osea by the Yuktobanian fleet. The most recent clash of superpowers had shown the Yukes that air power still could out perform the most advanced ship in the sea. The lethal Scinfaxi had been sunk by a combination of the Arkbird's laser system and a heroically _stupid_ attack run by the former Mobius 1. 

Though brief, the battle had resulted in immense damage to the Sand Island base. Before being stomped on by Wardog, Yuke Harriers had managed to drop cratering bombs on the runways. Thankfully, the base's triple A had kept the Yuke pilots from getting an accurate drop so one runway was only lightly damaged and the other escaped harm altogether. The same couldn't be said for the HAS, though. They had taken a beating, but the hangars had proven to be fairly resistant and none collapsed, but massive holes had been punched in them by Paveways. Crews had been hard at work patching both the HASs and the runway. With no second offensive attempted by the Yukes and no impending invasion plans coming down from the top brass, the four Wardog pilots had decided that helping the repair crews would be more productive than just sitting around.

"Thanks Lieutenant." Said the loadmaster, coming over to Forrest after the pilot had backed out of the cargo plane and parked the forklift. "Nice to see you and your pilots are giving us a hand. Makes our life a hell of a lot easier."

"No problem. We got nothing better to do. I think Grimm is sitting Ready Six, but he should be off in another," Blaze checked his watch, "Ten, twenty minutes." The two men shook hands before the pair stared at the C-130 that was still taking loads from two other forklifts. "What're you gonna do with the rubble?"

"Don't know for sure, but I think we're gonna take it to some other base and the boys there will take it to some place for recycling." The Hercules crewman shrugged. "Beats just flying over the ocean and dumping it." Brian gave a small laugh in return, imagining the environment activists' reactions if they got word that the OADF was dumping debris in the ocean. They and the peace activists had been on the news since the end of the invasion, criticizing Wardog and the OADF in general for sinking Scinfaxi and the Yuke fleet. The peace guys were clamoring that this was all a misunderstanding and that the government should have pursued a diplomatic solution to the problem while the environmentalists, or Greenies as they were known, were bitching that sinking the Scinfaxi and firing Arkbird's laser were having 'A detrimental effect on fragile coral and fish ecosystems in the vicinity of the Sand Island Air Base.'

_Both_ parties were calling for the immediate decommissioning of Sand Island. The peace boys wanted it closed because the proximity to the Yuktobanian mainland was _obviously_ antagonizing their 'peaceful' neighbors and the Greenies wanted the base closed because they were worried that the fighters taking off and landing here would kill some birds or give some fish a heart attack or something stupid. Blaze wasn't sure who to smack first, the doves or the Greenies. Really, the way they carried on, you'd think that this war was Sand Island's fault in the first place!

The ace crossed over to the collapsible white pavilion the kitchen staff had set up and got himself a meal of fried chicken and a salad with a nice ice-cold soda. As he sat down in the plastic folding chairs that had been set up around some tables. It was really a nice set-up, a good change of pace from the stark chow hall. Forrest cracked the seal on his cola and leaned back on the chair, enjoying the nice breeze that was making this day on Sand Island seem close to perfect. No war, no fighting, and just a day off. Yeah, everything looked pretty good right now.

Edge scowled down at the computer screen in front of her. There was no reason for her to believe that Brian hadn't been telling the truth. Everything he'd told her that night in his room seemed to check out. Had the phone number for his parents been feasible, she would have bought it. The problem was when she called the number, she got an operator who told her that the number she was calling didn't exist. Finally, she closed down the computer, realizing that this was as far as she'd gotten all week. A whole _week_ and all she had to show for it was a fake phone number! But that proved to Nagase that Blaze did have something to hide, and she was going to find out what it was!

"Lt. Forrest."

The man in question groaned inwardly at the voice. He'd know it anywhere. It was that damn base commander of his. Blaze had just enough time to wonder why the hell the man had left his comfortable office and come to see him before he bowed to the inevitable and left the chair, turning to face the commander and snapped up a quick salute. The ace caught a satisfied smirk on the pudgy man's face before it was returned and Brian was able to stand at ease.

"Come with me Lieutenant," he said, even crooking a finger like a master giving an order to his dog. Forrest managed to stop himself from snarling under his breath and obediently followed the 'good' Colonel as he waddled back inside and headed for the briefing rooms. Somehow, Blaze wasn't at all surprised to see the other three members of his command already in the room, jumping to attention when the two officers entered.

"At ease people," Perrault said as he moved to the front of the table. "It's time for you four to actually do something!" That was the last straw. Forrest snapped.

"Excuse me, sir?" He almost yelled, bolting up from his seat. "Just what the hell do you mean by that? The four of us haven't been sitting around for the last week!" Really, the injustice of this latest remark was almost appalling! That fat good-for-nothing was actually insinuating that the Four Wings of Sand Island were just lounging around while others did the work!

"Watch you mouth when addressing a superior officer, Lieutenant," the Colonel replied coldly. "Unless you want to be relieved of your command?" A tangible chill fell over the briefing room at the exchange. The two men stared each other down to see who would crack first. Finally, Blaze managed to force himself into his chair. The Colonel smirked, thinking that he'd put the uppity Lieutenant in his place by being superior.

Blaze, for his part, was running through every anger management exercise he knew, and invented a few new ones while he was at it. His three teammates were looking at him with worried expressions. They all knew him well enough to know that it took a lot to piss him off, and when he did get mad, to watch out. Fortunately, he also had very good self-discipline and was able to get back in control of himself before he could do something bad, like shoot Perrault.

"Now, if we could get on with the briefing?" He turned to the intel officer, who stepped up and launched into a description of Wardog's newest mission,

"You four are to patrol the northern part of our Air Defense Zone. Once on station, you will split into your two elements and begin the sweep. Time on station is estimated to be one to two hours, depending on how fast your relief forces get into the air. If, for some reason, you encounter the enemy, feel free to shoot them down. That is all." Blaze just glared at the enormous digital sit-rep map behind the man. Their projected course wouldn't take them anywhere near the usual hotspots for bandit activity. That meant this would be a boring mission.

"Oh, one more thing."

Perrault's voice stopped the four pilots in mid-motion as they rose from their chairs, fully intending to head for the ready room to suit up. The obese commander pulled out four little black velvet boxes. They looked a lot like ring boxes except for one that was longer and flatter than the other three. The Colonel flung them on the table with more than a little callousness and lumbered toward the door.

"Don't screw this up." He snapped at them as he waddled down the hall. Edge picked one up and looked at it curiously,

"What is it?" She asked, not quite sure of what to make of the little trinkets.

"Well, no harm in finding out," Chopper replied as he reached for one of the boxes. Blaze had a faint idea of what was in the boxes. He'd seen them often enough, and he couldn't help but wonder who had threatened Perrault to get him to give these to them.

"Whoa!" Chopper had opened the little box, and resting on a cushion of navy blue silk was a single silver bar. It was the insignia for a 1st Lieutenant. The loud pilot scrambled to take off the gold one he was currently wearing and put the silver one in its place.

"We've been promoted?" Edge was clearly as shocked as Blaze was that Perrault would give them these.

"Looks like it." Grimm said as he fingered the cloth patch that was in the single flat box. There were three stripes, the insignia for a Senior Airman, the next rank up from the one he was currently at.

"We can wonder about this later." Blaze told them as he pinned on his own silver bar. It wasn't two stars of a Major General, but it would be good enough for now. At least they would all be getting pay raises! He continued, "We better get to our jets otherwise the good Colonel will get pissed." The other three nodded and headed for the ready room.

* * *

And Chapter Six is in the books. Sorry that this took so damn long. Going home from college and general procrastination on my part meant that I didn't do much writing at all. But, I'm back at school now, so expect my updates to be picking up again. I don't know if I'll keep with the pace I had before because I have to pull better grades this time around, but I will do my best. The whole bit with the peace guys and the Greenies was inspired by a debate I saw on YouTube after someone posted footage of the US Navy/Iran Speedboat incident from a couple of days ago. Personally I think the Navy should have done the 'three strikes and you're out' thing and turned the Iranians into shark food after three verbal warnings. And now the glossary! 

**Glossary**

**Paveway:** The funny looking bombs that the F-117 Nighthawk is famous for dropping. Specifically designed to break HASs and bunker, hence the nickname, Bunker Buster.

**HAS:** Hardened Aircraft Shelter. A hangar on steroids. It's designed to withstand a BIG pounding and keep the aircraft inside safe. Bunker Busters tend to make HASs a moot point though.

Let me know if there are any I missed in this chapter. And now for a very special extension to the Glossary. Special Thanks to Jin the Wind Master for pointing these out to me. I thought these were general terms that everyone knew, but evidently I was wrong.

**Glossary Cont.**

**IFF:** Identification Friend or Foe. A special transponder on board most modern fighters. Allows an AWACS or another fighter to 'interrogate' the plane and get a signal back that identifies the contact as friendly. Not foolproof by any means. If the enemy gets the code, they can make their fighters come up as friendly.

**LSO:** Landing Signal Officer. The guy on a carrier in charge of getting the planes on the deck safely. Usually another pilot.

**RCS**: Reaction Control Surface. Clusters of mini rockets mounted on the exterior of space vessels for manuvering in the airless environment of space.

**O'Club: **Officer's club. Place where officers go to kick back and relax and say what they want without worry of rank or station.

**BVR:** Beyond Visual Range. Self-explanatory

**JAG: **A military lawyer.

**IP: **Instructor pilot. Once again, self-explanatory.

**TAC:** Shortened way of saying Tactical.

**MOAB:** Massive Ordinance Air Burst. A fuel-air explosive (or something similar) that had power comprable to a nuke, except minus the radiation. So large that only a B-52 or C-130 can drop it. Also has an alias of Mother Of All Bombs.

Once again, thanks to Jin the Wind Master for telling me about these.


	7. That stupid C5 mission

Disclaimer: Seriously, if you don't get it now, you never will. I own NOTHING!

Last time: Scinfaxi is sunk, The Four Wings of Sand Island get promotions, and Perrault continues to be a jackass.

This time: That damn escort mission! Oh, and there is a drastic turn in Edge's quest for Blaze's true identity

* * *

Three hours later found both Edge and Blaze in a racetrack CAP pattern over the southern shore of the inland sea. Chopper and Grimm were off doing their own patterns about two hundred miles away. Blaze hadn't liked the idea of splitting up the flight like this, but there was no way around it. It was what the orders said, even if the flight commander didn't like them. Not for the first time, Forrest wished he hadn't left ISAF. Sure, the ISAF made him run missions like this, but they were always willing to bend to circumstances and allow the commander of the mission to make the final call. After all, it was his and his men's butts on the line, not the higher-ups.

"Ahh! Dammit, Kid!" Chopper's frustrated voice cut through the static that the pilots had been listening to. Aside from hourly reports to each other and Thunderhead, the flight had maintained relative radio silence. Brian had been waiting for Davenport to get annoyed with the silence. Hell, he and Edge had made a bet on when he would break silence. "Couldn't we have gotten a more interesting mission? This is so damn boring!"

Before Blaze could respond to the impatient element leader, Nagase keyed her mike and sent Forrest a message, "Looks like I win the bet, Captain."

"Damn. A half an hour more and I would have been saying that. Okay, I owe you one entire night of drinks." Confusion was clear in Chopper's voice when he spoke again,

"Uh, just what are you guys talking about?"

"Well, we had a bet running on how long it would…" Blaze was cut short by a broken transmission on their frequency.

"…eavily…amaged…Radio…mal…unctioning…can…hear us?"

"Transmitting aircraft, this is Wardog 1. State your callsign and intentions." Blaze called to whoever had sent the transmission. As he spoke, Forrest's eyes dropped from the HUD in front of him to the radar display on the left MFD screen. He had a target almost twenty miles off his nose. It was the only aircraft in the vicinity, so by process of elimination, meant that it was the source. The static he'd been listening to suddenly cleared and the voice came on again, this time with perfect clarity.

"Ah, thank goodness! I thought we were dead for a minute there." There was clear relief in the pilot of the mysterious plane's voice.

'They must have switched to a second radio.' Blaze realized. This wasn't the age where aircraft only carried one radio and it could be knocked out by one well-placed bullet. Most aircraft these days carried at least two. Even the little prop planes that civilian pilots learned to fly on had two, just in case one broke. He realized that the plane was speaking again.

"This is the heavy transport plane, Mother Goose 1. We're on a classified mission and I'm not giving our automated SAMs a valid ID signal, so one of our own batteries opened up on us." Edge and Blaze could finally see the transmitting plane. It was an OADF C-5 Galaxy, one of the most massive cargo planes in the world.

The former Mobius 1 knew that it took more than one missile to down that behemoth, unless you got lucky and blew off a wing. That's way he made most of his C-5 kills with the gun. It was easier to make a deliberate hit on a wing and blow up a fuel tank or something.

"What's your status?" he asked. The reply was not one he wanted to hear.

"Our radar's out so I can't get a fix on where the SAM batteries are at." Great. Just what he didn't need, a transport on a top-secret mission that had been wounded by friendly fire _and_ the missile had taken out the thing's radar so it couldn't see the missile batteries below. Then the transport pilot made things even worse. "Our control systems have been damaged as well."

Blaze barely resisted banging his head on the instrument panel over and over. Seriously, how did he get himself into these types of missions? Killing superweapons, escorting crippled airliners and transports, those types of missions just weren't in his job description. He keyed his mike, "Mother Goose 1, standby. Edge, go button 2." Button two was the second comms channel he'd had all the members of Wardog set into the radio before they left. He generally used it as a way of coordinating his flight without the interference of Thunderhead or ground controllers. It also came in handy for having conversations behind another pilot's back.

"Roger, Edge going button 2."

Once they were both on the second radio frequency, Blaze said, "Okay Edge, what do we do about this guy?" He looked out the left side of his canopy and saw Nagase's shoulders bob in what could only be a shrug.

"I dunno. I would say help him out, but it's your call Captain." Great. Somehow he knew she'd say that. Chopper forced a split-second decision on him by coming on the radio with bad news.

"Hey Kid, we got a problem."

"What?" The ace really didn't want to know. He had enough trying to deal with what to do with this transport.

"Our early warning guys have picked up some Yukes heading straight toward us. Warning alarms are going off like mad and Thunderhead is giving birth to a cow about not being able to reach you."

"I don't tell him our reserve frequency for a reason. Great, baby-sitting a C-5. Well, we have no choice. Chopper, get your ass back here and meet us beyond the SAM network. Edge and I will try and get this guy through in one piece."

"Right. Hold on, Grimm and I are on our way." The radio went dead again and Forrest and Edge went back to the primary freq.

"Mother Goose, this is Wardog. We're gonna try and guide you through the field. Edge, keep your radar in air-to-air mode. I'm going air-to-ground to see if I can't find a path through here." He heard a click over his headset and knew that Nagase had gotten the message. Well, time to see if he could pull a miracle out of his butt and get this C-5 through.

Blaze scanned the radar display closely, increasing and decreasing the resolution a few times to better see the gaps between blips. After a minute, he could see a path beginning to form. It would be tricky and they would be just touching the range of a few of the SAM sites more than once, but Forrest's hope was that the AI in the missiles would reject the shot as having a low probability of success.

"Okay, I have the route." He didn't say that he _thought_ he had a route, because that would make the pilot of the C-5 nervous and prone to making a bad error, one that could result with him getting shot down. Edge and Blaze would be safe because they were transmitting a valid ID signal. "Let's go. You ready Mother Goose 1?"

"Yes sir." The transport captain replied. Blaze wondered what the man's rank was if he was calling Blaze 'sir'.

"Okay then. First heading is 056." Behind him, the C-5 banked and Blaze noticed that the transport didn't exceed more that ten degrees of bank. It was probably because of the damage suffered from the friendly missile fire. The two Raptors also adjusted course and rolled out on bearing 056.

"Radar is clear of bandits so far, Blaze." Forrest clicked his mike in acknowledgement. Edge knew him well enough to know that he would want periodic updates on what the air-to-air situation was.

"Standby. Second course will be 074. Roll on my mark…Mark." Once again, the three planes rolled and turned on to the new course. So far, so good, but now they were approaching one of the sections where the flight would brush the edge of a SAM ring. The pilots of the three planes held their breaths and slipped past the SAMs. Blaze let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Mother Goose, turn to bearing 043. You have a five mile leeway." The former ISAF pilot knew he was pushing it, trying to get such a big plane to turn in such a small space, but he was hoping that the transport's pilot was experienced enough to do it.

"Roger. I'll see if I can do it." The transport rolled and began to turn. If Blaze had had a nervous habit like chewing his fingernails, he would be doing it now. His heart leapt in his throat when he realized that the Galaxy wasn't going to make it! A second later, it was apparent that the cargo pilot knew his bird just as well as Forrest knew his.

The left wing suddenly began to drag and the right wing sped up. Blaze though it was odd, until he realized that the two pilots of the transport had decreased the power to the left two engines and increased power on the right. With the bank and the sudden alteration in power, the turn radius was shortened just enough to get them back on track.

"Nice work Mother Goose," Blaze said, meaning every word. There had always been a good-natured rivalry between transport, bomber, and fighter pilots, each group convinced that they were the most critical to a war effort while realizing that each one couldn't function without the other.

"Thanks Wardog 1. What's our next bearing?" It was obvious that the transport pilot didn't like doing this any more than Blaze did.

"Bearing 000. Ready on my mark. Three…two…one…Mark!" They made it to the new heading without any major complications. Now the four planes were just a few miles from the far edge of the automated SAM system. However, they were anything but home free. There were still quite a few SAMs between them and the edge, and Blaze had yet to find a direct route to the edge.

Close to twenty minutes later, the three OADF jets made it through the defense grid. Blaze couldn't help but wonder if this was how those Yuke bastards kept sneaking in.

'If we can do it, so can they.' He realized. The former Mobius 1 decided to tell Perrault about this the first chance he got and make sure the fat commander took it straight up the chain! Things began to happen very quickly right then.

A gunshot sounded over the radio, followed by the sound of a death rattle, which coincided with a sharp drop in Mother Goose 1's altitude.

"Hey! What gives?" Chopper asked as he and Grimm finally made it to the scene after setting in a supercriuse.

"Mother Goose 1, come in," Edge called. "Are you all right?" A different voice came on the radio, one that Blaze had heard enough times on TV, and even met face to face when he arrived in Osea.

"Ah. Yeah, we're fine." It was the voice of President Harling, the man in charge of Osea and its entire military. The man who ordered Arkbird armed with a laser and also the one who smoothed the way for a quiet emigration from ISAF. "There was an enemy spy onboard. The pilot and copilot are both dead. Tommy has the plane now, but he's just an aide and I don't think he knows how to fly this thing." Thunderhead chose that moment to make the situation even worse,

"Enemy contacts inbound, bearing 360 at 100, altitude 9000."

"Dammit!" Forrest swore, not believing their crappy luck. "Why now of all times!?" He shook it off and began to issue orders. "Grimm, Chopper, stay here and keep the bastards away from the Galaxy. Edge, you and I'll go out and intercept. We _cannot_ lose this transport!" A sudden curiosity struck Blaze, who wondered if the enemy knew who they were going after, so he switched channels and listened on the one reserved for enemy radio interceptions.

"There it is!" A Yuke said eagerly.

"Yeah! If we kill this one, they'll build a statue in our honor!"

"So what are we waiting for? Let's hurry up and kill this thing!" Yep. They definitely knew who they were going after. But this was a classified mission. The fact that the Yukes knew where and when to be, not to mention _who_ they were going after, pointed to a leak very high up on the food chain. So who in the Osean political or military structure had decided to turn traitor?

He was almost in range, so it didn't matter right now. Blaze's fingers began to dance on HOTAS, locking up an enemy, and selecting the missile to shoot him down with in a matter of seconds. It would be a face shot, but it didn't matter. These AMRAAMs were an all-aspect missile, just like the Sidewinders the flight carried.

"Blaze, Fox Three!" The ventral doors on his Raptor's belly snapped open and the fire-and-forget missile was punched into the slipstream before igniting its rocket motor and blasting off in pursuit of its target. Brian watched the little countdown on his HUD, waiting until the number next to the A hit zero and turned into a T. A stood for autonomous and was the time until the missile could track the target on its own. T stood for Time 'till impact and when that hit zero, Blaze needed to start looking for a kill confirmation.

"Edge, Fox Three!" An AIM-120 left his wingman's jet as well, and both missiles raced off into the sky. Forrest's pulse quickened as the count next to the tiny letter T hit zero. Way off in the distance, there were two little puffs as both missiles found their marks.

"Blaze and Edge, Splash One!" He called, locking up another. The target designator box on the HUD was moving erratically. Clearly these Yukes hadn't been expecting a fighter escort and now they were going to pay for it. The two F-22s closed the distance and entered visual range. Blaze was able to see the very distinct outline of a MiG-29 Fulcrum.

Those little suckers were durable, designed to operate from any type of runway in any condition. They even had doors on the top of the intakes to allow the front to be covered, which allowed the fighter to take off from anything from grass strips to highways and not have to worry about FOD. Once airborne, the doors would open and the intakes would function normally.

"Blaze, tallyho! I count two Fulcrums." Even as he spoke, he rolled and dove, going after his target, who had decided to enter a dive to try and open the distance. Nothing doing in a Raptor. The thing was designed from the ground up to not allow any type of advantage to the enemy. Now going to guns, Blaze got the pipper on target and opened up with a quick one second burst. Even as short as it was, over two hundred rounds pounded down range and ate through the skin of the MiG like it was nothing.

As the fighter blew up and headed earthward, Blaze's Radar Warning Receiver began beeping at him. He was spiked. It was the second one, the one whose tail Nagase was supposed to be on.

"Crap! Where'd he come from?" Forrest grunted as he began to take evasive action and get on the guy's tail. The other guy was good, despite having an inferior aircraft, the guy was managing to stay with him. Standard tactics weren't going to cut it here. It was time to show what the Raptor could _really_ do.

Forrest jerked his throttle back to idle and hauled back on the stick as hard as he could. The F-22 responded instantly, pulling up hard into a climb and losing airspeed at an alarming rate. The stall warning alarm began shrieking, but Brian had done this enough times to know how far he could push it. The maneuver looked more like a back flip than a loop, which was what it was supposed to look like, and the MiG overshot, speeding off into the distance, caught totally off guard by what the ISAF ace had done.

"Blaze, Fox Two!" He'd switched missiles in the middle of the flip, and the deadly rocket tore off in pursuit of the enemy, pulling lead and detonating close enough to the MiG to shred its engines and put it into a death spiral.

"This is Blaze, scratch another one."

"Roger. Lieutenant Forrest, your flight is requesting assistance with Mother Goose One."

"Copy. On my way." He arrived back in the vicinity of the stricken Galaxy, which was losing altitude fast, but Blaze wasn't too concerned. He could see that the transport had its flaps down and the gear was coming down even as he watched, setting up for an emergency landing out here in the middle of nowhere. Edge was busy talking him through the procedure, which explained why she hadn't been covering his back. Probably Chopper and Grimm had gotten too technical for the aide-turned-pilot.

"Are your engines at idle?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now pull back until the horizon is hidden by the top of the instrument panel." The C-5 began to pull up, allowing the main gear to hit first and absorb all the shock from the landing. A huge cloud of dirt and corn flew high into the air as the transport hit the ground and began rolling.

"Alright. Thanks for the help. By the way, who's the guy in charge of your squadron?"

"That would be me," the former ISAF pilot said. "First Lieutenant Brian Forrest at your service, sir."

"Brian Forrest? Well, thanks for all your help, and glad to see you've adjusted."

"No problem, sir." He responded quickly, hoping the man wouldn't continue and accidentally reveal him. Harling was one of the very few politicians that Mobius 1 could say he liked without having to tell a lie. Now he had to deflect the awkward questions that the others would be sure to ask him. Chopper provided the perfect excuse,

"Whoops, I'm outta fuel."

"Roger," Blaze acknowledged, feeling relief flood his system. "Which one are you at?"

"I'm at bingo fuel right now, Kid." Forrest scowled behind his mask. Bingo fuel was the level for a safe return, and allowed at least one go around if Chopper happened to miss a landing. They _could_ stay out until Wardog 3 hit joker fuel, which was the bare-bones minimum. Brian didn't want to run his wingmen out of fuel, but he also just didn't want to leave the President of Osea just sitting here in the middle of nowhere. A new voice crackled across the comms and saved Blaze the trouble of making a snap decision.

"This is the 8492nd to Wardog Squadron, you can leave, we'll take it from here."

"Roger 8492. Thanks for the backup."

"No problem. Rest assured we'll take good care of this guy."

"Okay Wardog, lets get outta here." The four Raptors banked for home, hoping to get some R&R after a long day.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Wardog made it back to Sand Island. After parking, the four pilots were walking to the debrief room when Capt. Hamilton blocked their way.

"Sir? What is it?" Blaze asked, saluting for the group.

"Something major has happened," the Captain replied grimly, returning Blaze's gesture. At the puzzled looks of the pilots the vice-commander told them. "Arkbird has been disabled."

"What?" The four said in unison.

"How?" Blaze asked. The Captain turned a cold gaze onto his best pilot.

"There was an explosive hidden in a supply shipment from the ground. We have reason to believe that it was an enemy spy who did it and no one within Osea has turned traitor." This talk about traitors and spys reminded Forrest of something he was going to do once he got back.

"Sir, while we're on the subject, we met Mother Goose 1 while it was enroute to North Point."

"Yes, I heard about that from the 8492nd. They said to commend you guys on your efforts in protecting the President."

"Wait a minute! Back up, that guy in their was the _President_!?" Chopper all but yelled. The other four looked at Davenport like he was nuts.

"You mean you didn't know?" Grimm asked skeptically, wondering how someone could meet their commander-in-chief and not know about it.

"_Anyway_!" Blaze said loudly, cutting off any further change of topic, "Sir, I was under the impression that the mission was classified. No one should have known but the higher ups and there was a flight of four Yuktobaninan MiG-29s there waiting for the President to arrive. If we hadn't been there, sir, in all likelihood, the President would be dead."

"So what you're saying, Lieutenant, is that you think that someone up in Central Command has turned traitor?"

Blaze nodded, "I believe so sir."

Hamilton sighed, running a hand through his regulation hair. "Be careful with those accusations, Forrest. I trust your judgment, but things like this cannot be brought to light without extreme caution."

"So you're saying you won't do anything about it?" Forrest demanded, perhaps a little more forcefully than he should have. Hamilton's eyes flashed.

"Show a little more respect to your superiors," he barked. "I never said I wouldn't do anything about this. Do not accuse me of such unless I have specifically said so! Am I clear?"

"Yes sir." The ISAF ace replied grudgingly. His respect for Hamilton dropped a few notches. The man could do his job, that much was true, but he also seemed to be a little bit more concerned with the regulations than with the big picture.

"I will take this up the chain. Just be patient and I will tell you what the results are." With that, he did a crisp about face and marched away. Once in his room, the Captain crossed to his desk and pulled out a very special cell phone, to be used only when there was something to report. He hit speed dial and waited. It was answered before the first ring ended.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

"Ah! Mr. Hamilton. Do you have something for me?"

"Yes sir. A warning. One of the pilots here is getting a little suspicious of just how the Yuktobanians knew to go after Harling."

"Which pilot?"

"Brian Forrest."

"Of course. Don't worry about him. He's just one pilot who is only chasing shadows."

"But what if he's a little more nosy?"

"I said do not worry." Now there was a hint of annoyance in the Grey Man's tone and Hamilton knew he'd better ease off the pushing. "When the time is right, we will kill the Wardog Squadron."

"How, if I may ask?" The voice on the other end chuckled mirthlessly.

"Ah, my dear Hamilton, you don't want me to spoil the surprise do you?" There was a click and Hamilton found himself listening to the buzzing noise of a dead line. Well, if his superiors didn't want him to do anything about a certain pilot, then he would just sit tight and wait for further orders.

* * *

After the debriefing of their latest mission, Edge was once again at the computer in her room, pursuing the mystery of her flight commander. She'd found nothing after the fake phone number, and every piece of Blaze's history in Osea checked out with no problems. Brian apparently had some very powerful friends somewhere.

'Glad to see you've adjusted. Why would the President say that to Blaze? Do they know each other?' She wondered, as she looked an ISAF site on Allenfort Air Base, the home base of the fabled Mobius Squadron. On the page of bios on the pilots, there was a section for Mobius 1, but the picture of the pilot had been pulled and replaced by the infamous Ribbon Insignia. Even the name of the pilot had been removed and replaced with the pilot's callsign.

Edge sighed in defeat, not knowing what else to do. The phone number didn't mean anything; maybe Blaze had just cancelled the number or something. There was no known picture of Mobius 1's true face outside of ISAF, and the ones within that country seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Wait. There was one lead she could follow up on. Why not give her aunt at Air Ixiom a call?

The phone rang for almost thirty seconds before it was answered.

"Hello?" Kei did a quick mental calculation and figured that it was close to one in the morning in Usea. She winced a bit before replying.

"Hey, Aunt Sakurako."

"Kei? Is that you?"

"Yeah, sorry if I woke you up. I forgot to do the time conversion."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I was awake anyway. Did you need something?"

"Yeah. Do you remember that flight you were on and Mobius 1 saved you?" Her aunt hesitated for a moment, probably trying to remember.

"Oh! That flight. Yes I remember. Why?"

"Do you remember ever hearing his name or something?"

"No. Why?" Kei's heart sank. So much for that lead, but Aunt Sakurako deserved to know why her niece had called so early.

"Well, my flight commander is from ISAF and he keeps saying and doing things that're making me think there's more to him than what he's letting on."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, I think he might be Mobius 1."

"Dear, Mobius 1 disappeared a few years ago. No one knows where he went. Is this flight commander of yours really him? Do you have evidence?"

"Well no…"

"Well then, why worry? Is he good at what he does?"

"He's fantastic."

"Then why does it matter? As long as he doesn't get you killed, you shouldn't worry. He might just be an emigrant with some real talent."

"But the phone number he has listed for his parents isn't real." Kei protested. "Why would Blaze give a false number?"

"Kei, listen to me. Maybe his parents are dead and the number is still floating around. Or it could be that they moved and didn't get the number changed. A false phone number really doesn't prove anything." Aunt Sakurako spoke gently, but nevertheless, it made Edge feel like she'd just wasted a lot of time on a wild goose chase.

"I guess so…" She still wasn't convinced though.

"You could always ask him. Maybe he'll tell you."

"I doubt it." Blaze had always been secretive about his past, even at flight training. Maybe it was just as Aunt Sakurako said and she was overreacting.

"It's worth a try." Her Aunt answered. "Is that all, Kei?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the advice."

"No problem. Tell your mom and dad I said hi."

"Okay. Bye."

"Talk to you later." Kei's aunt hung up and Nagase was left feeling more lost than ever. Well, maybe she could let it go and pick it up again at some later time. Yeah. That sounded good. Maybe Blaze would slip and reveal something that would give her a clue to who he really was.

* * *

All the pilots were roused bright and early the next day. There wasn't even a hint of dawn on the horizon.

"Ugh. Anyone know…" Chopper was cut off in mid-sentence by a massive yawn. He hadn't gotten to bed at a decent time last night as he'd been up for hours listening to rock and roll. "Anyone know what's going on here?"

"Not a clue." Blaze answered, raking a hand through his hair, clearly trying to get it to behave. Kei tried to keep from laughing at him. He looked so funny with his normally straight hair all stuck up on one side, as if he slept on his head. Grimm shuffled through the door at that moment, took a seat, and let his head go forward, impacting the table with a dull 'thud'.

Perrault chose that second to walk in the door. After chewing them all out on looking presentable, the briefing got underway.

"This is it people," the pompous man said to them all. "We're finally going to take the battle to the Yukes." His words sent electricity surging through each pilot, who all looked alert and ready. True to form, the Intelligence Officer took over to go into detail on what they were about to do.

"The word has come down from the top. We are to launch an invasion of Yuktobania. This invasion will have four divisions of infantry, labeled Alpha through Delta. The air support will consist of you four and your Raptors, carrying SDBs, two flights of F-15Es with the same loadout, and various top cover aircraft with multi-role ordinance. The goal is to carve a foothold and establish a beachhead here." He used a laser pointer to draw a circle around the section they were to occupy on the sit-rep map.

"Your target, specifically, is the enemy command center, here." Again he used the pointer to show their target. "You are to go in and cause as much damage as possible to the enemy's command and control. With any luck, you four will be able to shorten the battle before it can get bogged down."

"Sir, I notice that there are pillboxes and such along our forces projected route. What is being done about those?" Forrest asked, wondering why take out command and control when the enemy could just take cover and fight on?

"Excellent question. The F-15s are going to go after them. Once the area has been relatively secured, and a forward air base constructed, A-10s will be landing at the base and will proceed to root out any remaining opposition." Blaze nodded, satisfied. The A-10s would get the job done. That GAU-38 Avenger cannon was something to see, especially after watching it rip through tank armor like paper.

"Sir, what about enemy air support? What do we do about that?" Kei was asking the questions now.

"Your primary mission is to support the ground forces," the Intel Officer replied, clearly not minding fielding their questions. "However, you will have a full gun and two Sidewinders apiece. I don't think you four will have to worry about enemy counterattacks that much, what with your skills, but if you want to take out the enemy because you deem them a threat, go right ahead. A single lost aircraft is one more the enemy can't use against us. Are you all clear on your objectives?"

"Yes sir." Blaze answered for the group.

"Okay then. Good luck. Dismissed." The four pilots rose and headed out the door, the next stop being the Ready Room and their equipment that resided there.

* * *

And that is it. Read and review as always and I shall talk again when CH8 is out. On that note, I have started another fiction, so expect the updates on this to slow down somewhat. I'm not gonna give up on it though. I said that already and I mean it. Also, my interest in this fic is returning. I think that making the story branch off from the game and the break were just what I needed. Now, glossary time.

**Glossary**

**MFD: **Multi Function Display. A screen in the cockpit that can do all sorts of different things by pressing a few buttons. Now beginning to show up in Cessnas equipped with the Garmin G-1000

**Supercriuse:** A trait unique to the Raptor. The Raptor's engines are so powerful that they can take the F-22 supersonic without the use of afterburner.

**FOD**: Foreign Object Debris. Anything that can be sucked into an jet intake and damage the compressor blade. Can be a penny all the way up to rocks. You can even go as far as to call birds and humans FOD.

**SDB**: Small Diameter Bomb. This little baby is a real piece of work. Imagine being able to fit four bombs onto a pylon that usually only fits one! It can even glide! There are four bombs in one little package thing. The F-22 can carry two 2000lb JDAMs, and the SDB rack is designed to fit onto that attachment. Therefore, the F-22 is able to carry EIGHT, count 'em. _EIGHT _ SDBs. SDBs also have a crapload of capabilities that I'm not even gonna go into here. Go to Wikipedia or if you wanna know more.


	8. Invasion!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but an overactive imagination.

Last time: Wardog flight gives the President of Osea a hand. I **HATE **that mission!

This time: The time is at hand for Osea's counter-attack!

One thing before the start of the chapter. Many of you have been asking if this will be a Brian/Nagase fic. My answer to that is both yes and no. Yes because they will get together, but it won't happen until probably the last few chapters. No, because the romance won't happen right now. As I said in Ch.1, I'm running this as if it was taking place in the real world. Today's modern military frowns on what they term 'fraternization' (sp), just as much as the business world does, which is why those two won't be hooking up now.

* * *

Edge watched her flight lead with the intensity of an eagle about to dive down and snatch a fish from the water. Blaze had yet to make any slip up concerning his identity. She trusted him, and knew that whatever he was hiding, it wasn't something bad. The ace had proven time and again that he could trusted and was a more than capable fighter pilot. The question was who was he really? 

She didn't believe for a second that he'd picked up all he'd learned in the basic fighter training courses that the OADF made them go through. Some of his techniques, especially the ones he'd shown in the Raptor, could only be brought about by years of training and more than a little time over hostile territory. Even as the pilot watched, her flight lead shrugged on his jacket then wrestled on his harness. It was going to be cold where they were going to sortie and the four pilots had had the phrase 'dress to egress' drilled into them.

"Man, why are we invading Yuktobania?" Chopper asked to the room at large as the four finished suiting up and headed out onto the flight line for their birds. It was a warm and balmy day on Sand Island and there were only a few cumulus clouds in the sky, which made Blaze happy, knowing the clouds would prevent the winds from different altitudes from mixing and creating some turbulence.

"I know what you mean," Nagase replied. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to," Forrest replied. "And it isn't our job to question the orders. Whether we like it or not, we're striking the targets ahead of the advance forces." The more experienced pilot sighed. "I don't like it either, but we have no choice. It's either this or court-martial."

"I dunno about you guys, but I'll take the invasion over court-martial any day," Grimm added. The other three couldn't help but nod in agreement. Court-martial was synonymous with scandal and a dishonorable discharge, which would affect the victim for the rest of their lives. Any further opportunity for banter was cut short as the Four Wings of Sand Island arrived at their planes and began looking them over, accompanied by their crew chiefs, who would help them into the cockpit and let the four pilots know about any notable problems.

"Gonna bring my baby back in one piece, Kid?" Pops asked as the former ISAF pilot completed his external inspection and scaled the ladder into the cockpit.

Blaze gave the balding man a look. "Your baby?" He repeated, mock incredulousness in his voice. "Whose the one flying this thing?"

"_You're _not the one who fixes them when things go bad, Lieutenant!" Pops returned just as jokingly. It was part of a debate ranging back far into the past, into the glory days of the dogfight, when piston powered aircraft ruled the skies and lumbering B-17s pounded targets for weeks on end. The debate was who _really_ owned the plane that the pilots flew. The maintenance guys claimed it was theirs because they had to throw their heart and soul into getting the things into the air the next day.

Pilots would say the same thing, claiming that the grease monkeys only kept them airworthy so the pilots had something to fly! It was an unspoken agreement between the two factions that while the fighter was in the shop, it was the grease monkey's baby and the moment the pilot sat down in the cockpit, it was the pilot's

The two hiding aces just laughed at each other. "Don't worry," Brian assured the older pilot, "I'll bring this thing back in one piece." Pops nodded and handed the ace his helmet before getting clear and letting Forrest get on with his checklists. In no time, the twin engines whined to life and the four F-22s were on their way.

"Okay, Wardog, form up," the lead Raptor commanded as his three wingmen slid into position, about a mile off his wing and a half-mile in trail. Those seemed like long distances to the ground-bound man, but to a pilot, a mile was just as long as a couple of feet. Now Blaze set in the course for their first waypoint of the mission, which would have them heading south for quite a ways before looping back up towards the Yuke mainland. The idea was to keep the potential for friendly fire to a minimum by having the strike package come in from behind the four divisions on the ground.

* * *

Close to five hours later, the four F-22s finally came into sight of land again. Forrest stretched the best he could even as strapped down as he was. Now it was time to penetrate enemy lines and take out their command and control. 

"Okay, here we go! Switch to button three." The moment he finished speaking, the ace reached up and hit the button that would take his radio onto the preset frequency. This particular channel would allow the flight to talk to both each other and the other packages in the area. The ground forces were also included in the channel to allow for greater operations integration. Outside of battle, the different branches usually poked fun at each other. But in the middle of battle, they ceased to be Army, Air Force or Navy or Marines and became just the ODF, the Osean Defense Forces. "Attention all friendly forces, this is Wardog Squadron, we are entering the operational area."

"Roger," Came the voice of one of the battle coordinators on the ground and air. "What's your target?"

"We're going after the enemy's command and control."

"Ah, excellent. These bastards are putting up one hell of a fight and we can't advance much further until their communications are cut. Can you make sure that happens?"

"Roger that. We'll deal with these guys ASAP. You'll know when their gone." The ace squadron didn't wait for a response, instead pushing even harder into enemy territory. As the four flew ever closer to their target, they listened to the friendly and enemy radio chatter.

"Where's Delta Division?"

"Did those guys push ahead _again?_"

"F-15s, this is Bravo Division, we're taking heavy fire from those bunkers. Take 'em out! Cleared hot!"

"Roger, Cadillac flight is inbound, take cover."

There was a few seconds delay, then, "Perfect! Nice shot boys!"

Blaze noticed that his group was getting in range of their objective. Now would be a good time to get set up. "Wardog 1 to flight, target's coming up. Get ready to engage."

"Archer, Roger."

"Chopper, Roger."

"Edge, Roger." In the drizzling skies, Forrest could just make out the shapes of unmistakable command positions on top of a plateau. The ace grinned to himself, plateaus meant little to no cover aside from what you could set up yourself. These guys would be sitting ducks. Those hardened fortifications ringing the place wouldn't stop an SDB either. The tiny bombs could be set up to act much like a bunker buster. Blaze zeroed in on the tallest building he could find, a control tower looking thing that would probably give the enemy's commanders an unprecedented view of the battle unfolding.

"Blaze to group, I'm going in after that control tower. Edge, you take out the buildings around it. Chopper, Archer, split and find other targets. Use both SDB racks if you have to, but if you can save one, do it and we'll try and support the ground forces." Four separate clicks came in over his headset and the ace knew that his formation had gotten the message. Beside him, Chopper and Archer peeled off and kept going, making a turn that would probably provide for spacing for the two planes so they didn't get caught up in whatever secondary explosions followed his and Edge's attacks.

Blaze's element hit the point to begin setting up for an attack. The ace's fingers danced, switching from air radar to ground radar and found the blip that represented his choice of targets. He selected one rack of SDBs and set the spread pattern, then locked up the tower. If all went as he planned, the four bombs would impact all along the tower and blow it into tiny pieces, along with any generals or commanders inside.

"Ready Edge?" he asked, knowing his wingman had probably finished setting up around the same time he did.

"Ready." Well, that was no surprise.

"Okay, here we go!" The two fighters continued to fly straight and level, Blaze watching the CCRP on the HUD. The indicator began flashing, but Forrest didn't hit the button just yet, because the flashing meant that he was in position to toss bomb, and his plan didn't call for that. As soon as the flashing stopped, he pressed and held the pickle button.

Nothing happened.

The ace continued his wait. CCRP didn't work the same way as CCIP. With CCIP, wherever his reticle happened to be, that was where the bomb would land at that moment. CCRP, on the other hand, had the targeting computer doing all the work, taking factors like his pitch, altitude, airspeed, and the ace wouldn't have been surprised to find windspeed thrown in there somewhere. Finally, his Raptor jolted as four Small Diameter Bombs dropped from their rack and headed earthward.

"SDBs on the way!" He called as he pulled into a hard turn to get away. Though he didn't see the actual release, Brian knew that the four bombs had rolled upside down and deployed a set of wings. That turned a GPS guided free-fall bomb into a deadly glider. Now it was just a matter of time.

Edge watched as her leads bombs dropped from his ventral bay and went for their target. Sure enough, the gliding bombs hit their target, but the first two caused enough damage to make the tower topple and the remaining bombs only added to the damage done, not really doing anything tactically effective. Nagase's own bombs hit the facilities that were arrayed around the tower and not crushed by the debris raining from the falling structure.

"Wardog 1, 2, out," Blaze called as he and Edge turned away and climbed. The call was to let Chopper and Archer know that they were okay to go in and attack their targets.

"Wardog 3, roger. We're coming in." Davenport was unusually businesslike as he began his run, but then most of the pilots were, having had the concentration needed for the attack drilled into them by various instructor pilots at Heirlark. Forrest watched as the two F-22s came in fast. The ace caught a glimpse of the duo's ventral doors popping open and eight bombs spilled earthwards. Twin lines of staggered explosions rippled across the ground, then many secondary explosions ripped the already shattered base's motor pool apart.

'Pretty clever, going after their means of escape.' Forrest really had to hand it to Chopper, the pilot may have been a loudmouth, but he could hold his own now, a far cry from the jittery nugget who'd almost gotten killed in his first aerial engagement.

"Wardog 4 to Wardog 1," Grimm's voice broke into the ace's thoughts and he wondered what the younger pilot wanted.

"Go ahead."

"Sir, those two bunkers may be where the command and control is hiding. Permission to engage target." Forrest could see Archer's point. It was very possible to have the really big brass hiding in those shelters. Well, if it was worth doing, it's worth overdoing.

"Permission granted. Take 'em out!"

"Yes sir!" The two Raptors down below reversed course and swung back to make another pass. Blaze couldn't help but notice that Chopper had given the lead position to Grimm. That was one of the wonders of a two-plane formation. It was a lot more flexible, and flexibility was a must in today's battlefields.

"Edge, we'll provide top cover."

"Roger." As the lead element's F-22s kept a vigilant watch for enemy fighters overhead, Grimm was setting the spread and fuse delay on his last four SDBs. Unlike Blaze who used the CCRP method of release, Grimm preferred to use CCIP. It was just easier to use. Put the reticule _there_, push the button and the bombs went 'boom' on target! Simple. The circle of green light on the HUD merged with the shelter below and Archer pushed the little red button on the top of his stick.

"Archer, pickle!" The Senior Airman's next move was to ram in full AB, pull hard back on the stick and grunt as the g's assailed his body as his F-22 pulled out of the dive he'd put it in to deliver his bombs.

"1…2…3…4! Yahoo! Way to go Grimm! All bombs on target!" Chopper yelled, ecstatic as he watched the small, gray bombs slam through the concrete of the shelter and blow up, sending black smoke pouring through the narrow slitted windows that ran around the building. It was a good start, but there was one more left. "OK, Grimm, I'm taking lead. Cover me!"

"Yes sir!" The younger man leveled off and turned around before dropping into position off Chopper's right wing. Now it was the loud pilot's turn to make a move as he lined up on the second, and last, shelter. His CCRP marker merged with the circle and he depressed the button. An instant later, his fighter jolted as the four bombs released and went screaming earthwards. Even as the four weapons fell, the second element of Wardog Squadron was pulling up and away, both to clear the blast area and rejoin with Edge and Blaze.

"Wardog to the ground forces. How's it look now?" Blaze asked. Time to see if the fruits of their labor were paying off.

"A lot better! They've gone to pieces and the defense line is breaking down! We've still got a ways to go, but it's gonna be much easier now!"

"Roger. Good to hear. We've still got two birds with claws. You need any additional support?" There was a minute of static, punctuated by calls from other close air support craft in the area. Finally, the controller came back up.

"Alpha division is having a little trouble with some artillery and armor up on some high ground. Your AWACS will give you specifics."

"Copy." He switched to one of the air specific lines. "Thunderhead?"

"Right. Your target is about twenty nautical miles west of your current location. Alpha division is moving, but it's slow going because the enemy has dug in fairly well. The position was previously assaulted by F-15s, but they were bounced by a flight of F-4s and weren't able to effectively counter the threat. Careful going in. The controller is waiting for you."

"Roger, we're moving to the target area now." As one the four jets rolled left and settled onto heading 270, better known as West. Just a scant five minutes later, they were on station.

"Alpha controller calling Wardog flight. Are you in position?" The guy was clearly eager to get this enemy support out of their hair. Blaze couldn't blame the man, he felt that same way when being pounded on by flack, AA, and SAMs.

"Getting there, Alpha. Give us the vectors. Be advised we only have eight bombs."

"Eight's better than none. Okay. I have visual on you. Enemy post is five miles north of the red smoke." A couple of minutes later, red phosphorous smoke billowed into the air.

"Wardog confirms visual. Give us a minute and sit tight, we're going in." The former ISAF ace ignored the controller's obligatory response and concentrated on setting up for his run. He managed to catch sight of a few glints of metal in the obscured sun.

"Right, I can see the target. Edge, you follow about a minute behind and offset your pattern a little. With any luck, we can get them all with only a few bombs." The F-22 on his left peeled up and began a lazy circle to induce the desired separation. "Chopper, Archer, provide top cover. Engage and splash any hostiles." The other two also banked away and Forrest set his own fighter onto the heading that would take him over the enemy encampment running from right to left, if one saw it from a God's eye view.

He set a wider spread than what he'd used back at the command post and waited until the CCRP began to blink. Blaze depressed the button and the computer took over from there. A second later, four SDBs were disgorged from the fighters belly and went to bring death to the enemy. Even as the leader of Wardog broke off, Edge came screaming in from the opposite direction, giving the enemy no time to breathe and regroup before another four bombs pounded them. Thankfully, the emplacement hadn't been very big and between the two fighters they managed to cover a respectable part of the emplacement.

"Wardog to Alpha division, how's it looking now?"

"Great! We can move again. Thanks for your help!"

"No problem." Now all four of the Raptors were out of bombs and by the time they could get to Sand Island and rearm, the battle would have reached its conclusion. Time for the Four Wings of Sand Island to leave. "Wardog to all allied forces, we're checking out. Good luck." With that, the four F-22s turned for the ocean, a slate gray smudge on the horizon, and headed for home.

* * *

Two hours later, Wardog finally was able to take on fuel. The KC-10 tanker was straight ahead of them and Edge, Chopper and Grimm were 'parked' off of the tanker's wings. Blaze was about two miles in trail and trying to line up with the boom that stuck out of the tail of the converted passenger jet like some kind of mosquito. 

"Wardog 1, this is Canteen 1. Cleared to the pre-contact position."

"Wardog 1, roger." What the controller had just told him was to move his F-22 into close proximity to the orbiting gas station and get ready to hook in. The ace nudged his throttle and watched his radar display as the closure rate began to move upwards.

When it hit fifty knots of closure, Forrest backed off on the throttle to maintain his speed. If he got too fast, he would probably ram the tanker and send himself and everyone in the area on a one-way trip to death. If he was too slow, he would either not catch up or run himself out of gas, whichever came first.

Now he was in position, just outside the reach of the boom that would refill his tanks for the remainder of the flight home. The boom came down, nothing more that a straw with a nozzle that could telescope out, thus keeping him at a long enough distance to not pose too much of a hazard to the KC-10.

"Wardog 1, cleared to contact position."

"Wardog 1, roger." He opened the throttle just a hair and crept forward until the lights arrayed along the underside of the tanker's fuselage were lit in the right sequence. Now he was in position and the tanker's boom would be able to reach him. The pilot flicked a switch on a side panel in his cockpit to open the air-refueling door. From now on, it was all in the hands of the boom operator. The soda straw began to move, angling down over Forrest's head as the operator took aim at the receptacle that the door Blaze had just opened exposed. There was a scraping noise, as the nozzle didn't connect directly with the receptacle; instead, it hit the area just around it.

There was a clunk and the fuel gauge on the ace's panel began winding up.

"Nice job operator." The ace said as he settled in for the five minute wait as the tanker topped him off. "You didn't scratch my paint did you?"

There was a brief chuckle from the other end of the line. "No sir. I wouldn't dare scratch the paint of any plane."

"That's good. My crew chief will have your head if he finds damage on this bird."

"He won't get my head sir. He'll be too busy trying to take yours!" The friendly argument kept up until the F-22's tanks were full.

"Thanks for the drink." Brian said as he dropped his nose, closed the doors over the fuel receptacle and banked away. Now it was Edge's turn on the boom and Blaze took the position she'd vacated when she'd to come down to refuel.

Fifteen minutes later, all the fighters were refueled for the ride home.

"Okay, let's get out of here. Thanks Canteen."

"Our pleasure. See you around Wardog."

"Sure. Wardog take heading 050."

* * *

It was late at night when Wardog finally made it back to their home base. There was a tough bit of wind trying to land, but the four aces managed to get their birds on the ground with little effort. It was a testament to how far the aces had progressed since the war started. 

Pops looked on as four Raptors taxied into their usual spots and the engines began to wind down. The aging ace rolled out the removable ladder as Blaze's canopy began to rise and the ace himself pulled off his helmet.

"Here Kid, lemme get that for you." The mechanic grabbed the headgear from the clearly exhausted flight lead's hand and set it down on the platform beside him. Then he leaned in and helped the pilot to unclip.

Blaze was thankful for the help Pops gave to him. He wasn't too proud to admit that he appreciated it. Forrest had been fine up until he'd shut the engines down. It had happened while he'd been Mobius 1 too. Brian would get back to base and be as bouncy as a newborn baby, but as soon as the engines quit rotating, he'd want to sleep as much as the aforementioned infant.

"Thanks Pops," he murmured as he heaved his leaden body out of the hard ejection seat, which he now realized was harder than stone.

"Don't mention it. Look on the bright side Kid. Now you can go to sleep!"

"Not yet. Perrault still has to debrief us." Then the ace slouched past the Raven and began to walk down the stairs that he'd rolled out. The middle aged man watched with concern as the younger pilot staggered away.

'This isn't good. I know he's a kick-ass ace and all, but he's still human, and humans get tired. If the Colonel keeps this up, he's gonna run all four of them straight into the ground and they won't be able to help anyone.' He shook his head and began issuing orders to the ground crews to get the 22s turned around as quickly as they could.

"And that's the outcome of the battle." The Intel Officer sat down, having just finished filling the four pilots in on the outcome of the battle they'd had a big hand in helping win.

Blaze wasn't oblivious to what that meant. It meant that Osea now had a foothold in Yuke territory from which they could begin to launch offensives and eventually capture Cinigrad and end the war.

'Escalation is coming, and it's coming fast. Dammit! This is just like with ISAF! Oh well, at least the other three are in the same boat. Hopefully the higher-ups have the sense to only put us in the major operations.' Now Hamilton stood up. The Captain had filled in for Colonel Perrault, who'd apparently decided to turn in for the night.

"I suggest you four get some rest. We'll call you when you are needed again. Dismissed." They stood and assumed the position of attention before Hamilton left the room. The moment the door closed, Chopper slumped over.

"Man, I'm beat!" He complained. "Why couldn't they've just stationed us at the front with all the others?"

"It's not feasible," Blaze answered, his voice reeking of fatigue. "If they put us at the front we would just get in the way. All of our weapons and maintenance and support crews are here on the island. Plus the guys on the front have only built rough airstrips that only the A-10s can operate off of. The only other planes that can be up there with them are the Harrier and the Fulcrum."

"So what you're saying is that we're the first responders for any air mission that they could possibly dream up?" Edge asked hardly daring to believe it.

"Pretty much. I don't see any F-15s, 16s, or 14s around."

"That's stupid!" Grimm exclaimed. "They'll burn us out!"

"And until they realize that, they're gonna keep running us ragged, so get used to the long flights."

"Couldn't they put a carrier battle group off shore?" Edge asked.

"They could, but I doubt they will. The brass would claim sub threat or something like that." The ISAF ace rubbed his tired eyes. Nagase could see the redness in them as their flight lead headed for the door. "G'night. I'm tired."

* * *

Chopper was aroused by a hard knocking at his door. The loud pilot glanced the red numbers on his alarm clock. 0700. Great. It had been a day and a half since the sortie to dig a foothold into the Yuke mainland and he was still bushed. Since then, the pilots of Wardog hadn't had anything to do. It wasn't because of a lack of action, but because of the mandatory day and a half rest period required for all combat pilots after a mission. Davenport groaned as he realized that the Kid's prediction was going to come true. The brass was gonna run them into the ground. 

"Chopper! Hurry the hell up!" Blaze's voice came through the wood door with relative ease. "We gotta be in the briefing room in ten minutes!" That statement was followed by the sound of Blaze's booted footsteps receding down the hall. The third member of the Wardog Squadron groaned again and rolled out of bed, pulling on the flight suit he'd just thrown of the floor the night before.

* * *

Brian Forrest strode down the hall at a brisk pace, looking more like Captain Hamilton than the quiet flight commander. The fact that he'd just been to the base barber to get his hair trimmed didn't make him look any friendlier. It wasn't the severe haircut most civilians associated with the military, but if you'd been around him when it was longer, you'd notice the difference. 

He made it to the briefing room and threw himself into a chair. Blaze's blue eyes smoldered as he thought about what those idiots in Oured were doing to his flight. A target list had come down just six hours ago and both Colonel Perrault and Captain Hamilton were adamant about hitting every target ASAP. Which meant that Wardog was going to go flying every other day until all the targets were destroyed.

Nagase was the next to enter the room and she knew instantly that her lead was royally pissed off. How did she know? Well, Blaze generally didn't stare at the varnished top of the briefing room table as if he wanted nothing more than to make it burst into flames with his gaze alone. Now it was awkward. She didn't know if she should talk to him or not. To see Brian Forrest this angry was like seeing the Aurora Borealis. You knew that they happened but never got to see them.

"Captain?" No response. Hardly a surprise, by the look in his eyes, he was angry about something, but was also trying to figure out a way to make the best of it. Nagase's respect for her Captain went up even more. Not many people, especially men, could do that. A sexist thought to be sure, but if one really thought about it, there was some truth to the statement. "Captain?"

Forrest seemed to come out of some type of trance. "Edge? Sorry, didn't hear you come in."

"That's obvious, sir. Is something wrong?"

The Ace of Aces nodded. "Yeah. The bigwigs are going to run us into the ground." He pulled a page of paper out of the pocket on his calf. "Here. Our target list for the rest of the war."

"You're kidding. The rest of the _war!?_" The only female pilot in Wardog took the paper with a shaking hand and looked over the list. She could see right away that the brass in Oured had high hopes for her squadron. Some of the targets were minor, like troops supply lines, but some ran straight up to Cinigrad. "It looks like they don't expect the war to take more than a few months!"

Blaze nodded in agreement but was spared answering because Chopper and Archer arrived at that moment. Before the flight could exchange more than cursory pleasantries, Perrault and the Intel Officer entered the room. The proper customs and courtesies were rendered then the room got down to business.

"First off, the ground forces extend their thanks to you four for your efforts in helping shorten the battle a few days ago. I'm proud to say that the grunts succeded in their operations and we now have a stable forward base established on the Yuktobanian mainland." The four exchanged happy looks, satisfied that their efforts hadn't been in vain. "Now, here's your current sit-rep and your orders for deployment." Blaze jolted slightly at the officer's choice of words. He'd heard that line almost verbatim five or six years ago at the briefing for Operation Umbrella, the operation that'd literarily had ISAF's future depending on his flying skills.

A blue blob appeared on the map, extending close to fifty miles inland. Forrest knew that he was currently looking at the territory Osea currently held across the ocean. "With the establishment of a beachhead and the subsequent push by our forces inland, the Yukes have begun a full-scale withdraw from the area. We believe that a good portion of their men, material and equipment are being airlifted out of the area, lest they fall into our hands." A box appeared on the digital screen and zoomed in, showing the operations area for Wardog. "A spy inside the Yuke government has supplied us with the time and location of one of the convoys. Wardog is to go in and splash any and all cargo jets."

"Any clue on what type?" Blaze asked. He wanted to know so he knew where to aim when the shooting started.

"All signs point to either C-130s or C-5s. We have no way of knowing for sure." The officer looked around. "Anymore questions?" The pilots shook their heads. "Okay then. That's all I have. If you need to stop, one of our divisions managed to capture a base that was in relatively good condition. They've since managed to repair it to operational status and have sent word to us that it is open for your use if you need to rearm or refuel. Good luck." With that, the briefing was over and the Four Wings of Sand Island stood and left, preparing once more to return to the front lines.

Little did they know, this would be one mission they wouldn't soon forget.

* * *

So much for Ch.8! Thanks for reading! Just as a potential heads-up, I'm gonna be extremely busy these next few weeks, which means I will have less time to work on writing as college demands most of my attention. Less time to write means that the rotation will slow down, which means that Chapter nine may or may not be a little slower in coming. Okay, now for the acronyms! 

**Glossary:**

**CCRP:** Continuously Calculated Release Point. A method of dropping bombs. In this method, pressing the pickle button only gives the pilot's _consent_ to release the bombs, not the actual order. That part is handled by computers onboard the aircraft. I think that this method, while harder to use, is safer for the pilot as he or she doesn't have to dive on a target and risk entering range of Triple-A fire.

**CCIP:** Continuously Calculated Impact Point. This is the method that all Ace Combat vets are familiar with. You put the marker _there_ and the bomb (hopefully) goes _there_! Simplistic, but a little more dangerous since you have to dive, putting you in range of Triple-A, as stated above.

**Cadillac Flight:** Not something that you guys would know unless you're real big on the military history of the Vietnam War or have seen Dogfights on the History Channel. Fighters on ground attack missions during the war generally took on callsigns of different brands of cars like Buick or, in this case, Cadillac. There was a mission during the war called Operation Bolo. The objective of the mission was to lure N. Vietnamise MiG-21s up to dogfight with American F-4s. To achive this, the Phantoms did everything they could to act like the standard strike aircraft of the time the F-111 Thunderchief or 'Thud'. They even jury-rigged ECM pods to the F-4s to allow them to jam enemy radar, Standard Operating Procedures for the Thuds at the time. The operation worked and the American teams sent up to battle the MiGs came away with a resounding victory. I couldn't think of a callsign so I just used this one.


	9. Hunting

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Last time: The invasion of Yuktobania gets underway

This time: Hunting down fleeing transports

* * *

Four F-22 Raptors flew over the coast of Yuktobania, setting up to carry out their intercept mission. The timing had to be flawless, otherwise they would miss their target and then the pilots of Wardog would be subjected to endless ridicule by their incompetent base commander, and that was one scenario even the former Mobius 1 wanted to avoid. Endless insults and not-so-subtle hints about how much they sucked were a top way to ruin morale and reduce combat effectiveness. Plus it just grated on the nerves.

"Thunderhead, this is Wardog, checking in." Blaze called, letting the orbiting E-3 know that the flight was in the vicinity and ready to carry out the mission.

"Roger. Turn to heading 050 and continue on heading to intercept. Your timing couldn't be better Wardog, we just began picking up blips. Looks like the intel was right for once." Forrest had to smile at the AWACS' remark. Every grunt out there, be they marines, a sailor, pilot, navigator, ground pounder, it didn't matter, all the soldiers regarded any intelligence that came to them as something to be politely nodded at and accepted then promptly thrown away as soon as the officer had turned his back.

"Copy, we'll be in the ops area soon." Now the four pilots tweaked their heading a bit to get in line with the one Thunderhead had given them and Blaze gave the order to go to supercriuse. The flight had come in at standard speeds in an attempt to save fuel, but now that they were closing in on their targets, Wardog could afford to live a little.

Edge watched as her airspeed indicator on the left side of her HUD spun past Mach 1. It never failed to surprise the pilot at how smooth the transition was from subsonic to supersonic. Though, it shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did. This wasn't the 1950s when mankind had the barest grasp of the concept of a sound barrier and the test pilots who'd shattered it routinely took their lives in their hands to push technology just a little further. Now the only thing that clued to her into the fact that she was now moving _real_ fast was the airspeed indicator and Mach number indicator, which was now reading 1.2.

From there, the flight passed at a much speedier pace and in less than an hour, Wardog was closing in on sector Charlie Oscar, their operational area for the day.

"Thunderhead this is Wardog, we're in the area and going hot." Blaze's report had all his wingmen reaching for the Master Arm switch and doing other tasks like checking fuel, scanning the radar, using visual scanning to see if they couldn't spot a glint of sun off of metal, anything to increase their SA.

"Thunderhead roger, you are cleared to engage and destroy any and all hostile aircraft."

Brian scowled as he repeated the instructions using a line that he'd heard years ago during his time as Mobius 1, "Roger, initiating attack on all hostile aircraft." It was a line he'd heard when the ace had run into the Yellows for the first time in his life. Forrest could remember how Yellow Thirteen had spoken that line and his five ship, flying all the way from their highway base in San Salvacion, had engaged the ISAF force that was attacking the oil refinery for the Aegir fleet.

'Ah, sweet irony,' he thought bitterly as his eyes traveled from the world outside to the MFD showing his radarscope. So far, everything looked clear, no sign of enemy fighters or transports. The ace knew that their targets had to be around here somewhere, the flight was over the mountains and, as far as Forrest knew, there weren't any airbases around here for the fleeing Yukes to land at.

Grimm changed all of that when he came up on the radio, excitement clear in his voice, "Archer has contacts! On the nose, about fifty miles!" Ah, that would be why Brian's radar wasn't picking up anything. His radar was set to scan up to about forty-five miles away. The popular myth in the civilian world was that radar could scan a huge amount of sky in something like half a second. No fighter jet's radar, no matter how advanced could do that. Blaze had to set the range for his scan, how far out the signal would go, then he had to set the gain, in other words, the up/down swath.

Right now, his radar was set to a balance of range and gain, giving the ace the best possibility for spotting low-flying enemy targets. It his gain was too shallow, an enemy would be able to sneak by him by flying low. The same held true for range. If it was too short, all the enemy would have to do is out run him and Blaze wouldn't even know that someone was there. Thankfully, both could be adjusted by a flick of his fingers on HOTAS. Which is what Forrest did now. He advanced the range on his radar by the needed five miles and, sure enough, at the top of his screen, indicating a far off target, was a cluster of yellow squares.

"Blaze confirms target. Okay Wardog, you guys ready?" Four prompt answers of 'yes sir' came back over the radio, making Blaze want to swell with pride. The four of them had come far since their first missions together. "Roger, split and engage. Keep an eye out for escorts, and try to conserve ammo. Intel said that this was a pretty sizeable withdrawal." The group of four split, Edge and Blaze going one way, Chopper and Archer going the other. Now would come the fun part.

"Blaze engage."

"Edge engaging."

"Chopper engaging."

"Archer, I'm engaging."

They closed on the unsuspecting cargo planes, but it wasn't until Forrest had actually locked one up that things went screwy. All of a sudden, the cluster of boxes on his scope multiplied exponentially.

"The hell?" He wondered to himself before he realized just what was going on. Jamming. There was probably an ECM aircraft out there somewhere emitting jamming signals. The ace moved to the frequency for intercepted comms and confirmed his suspicions.

"Looks like we've got company."

"Ignore 'em! We just gotta make sure that we get all this stuff outta the combat area!"

"This is White Noise 1. Don't worry, we've got it covered." That was all the former Mobius 1 needed to hear and he returned to his own frequency.

"Heads up guys, they've got jammers out here and I'm willing to bet that they're big ones too."

"You're not joking, Kid!" Chopper exclaimed. "I'm glad that most of these returns are ghosts though, I nearly had a heart attack!" The flight lead ignored the chatter and began looking around for any sign of an electronics warfare aircraft. The ace knew from experience that they would be hanging back and at a higher altitude. The Yuke brass clearly needed these supplies to make it through to help them staunch the Osean advance.

Edge watched her lead as his helmeted head swiveled all around. She had an idea of what he was looking for and knew that it would only be a matter of time until Blaze sighted their tormentors. The female pilot wished that she could help him, but it was her job to keep both of their tails clear of enemy fighters. That was what a wingman was for.

A movement caught her eye. Brian was signaling to her to catch her attention and direct it upward. She followed his frantic pointing and saw a white speck high above them. Blaze pointed to her, himself and then up at the plane above them. Edge wondered for a minute why he didn't say it over the radio, then she realized that the unidentified aircraft was probably an E-3 Sentry, the same kind as Thunderhead. Those planes were more than capable of intercepting their communications.

Nagase tilted her head back until her helmet hit the headrest of the ejection seat then she dropped her chin to her chest. The over exaggerated nod was all the confirmation the other pilot needed and the two of them began a steep climb to bring their weapons to bear on the pesky jammer.

Blaze switched targets, going from locked onto a cargo jet to spiking the E-3. His eyes narrowed as he got a positive lock for one of his AMRAAMS and hit the button. The white streak flashed from his belly and tore across open space towards the Sentry. Hopefully the thing wasn't armed with chaff and flares.

It wasn't.

Forrest's missile slammed into the wing, just inboard of the number one engine and blew off the engine and rest of the wing, perforating the fuselage with shrapnel and fire in the process. Thick smoke and orange flames poured from the stricken AWACS as it entered its death spiral, drilling a hole through the air on its way to a meeting with the ground. Half way there, though, the fire spread to whatever fuel lines were still intact and set the avgas still inside alight, blowing the white aircraft into so many metal flakes and sending the flat radome on top spinning away like some giant Frisbee.

"Yeah! Way to go Kid!" Davenport's enthusiastic voice blared in Forrest's headset so loudly that Blaze actually had to turn down the volume or risk being deafened.

"How's the radar look now, Chopper?"

"Great! Now we don't need get a visual!" Getting a visual usually meant that you were putting yourself at risk. By getting close enough to see the other guy, you also ran the risk of him seeing _you_! That was a situation avoided like the plague by every combat pilot. The best way to kill another guy was to get off a BVR missile shot at his six when he didn't know you were there.

Blaze rolled onto his back and pulled, bringing the radar to bear on his real targets. Only four showed up. That would be fine, they could each take one and add a notch to their kill count. Not that Mobius 1 needed any more kills.

"I show four cargo planes," he reported. "All of you, take one and start shooting!"

In short order, missiles flew from two directions and headed straight for the helpless cargo planes. Four fireballs followed moments later.

Blaze ignored Chopper's ecstatic whoops as he looped away, maintaining his higher position, eyes never ceasing the scans for enemy planes.

"Wardog 1 to Thunderhead, any sign of additional enemy forces?" Forrest only had to wait a minute before the AWACS got back to him.

"Bandits confirmed, heading 040, northbound, trying to exit the combat area."

"Roger, Wardog's on the way to intercept." The four F-22s renewed their push into enemy territory, trying to gain on the fleeing cargo jets. It didn't take long before returns began showing up on the radar. "Wardog has contact."

"Roger. Be careful Wardog, we've managed to positively ID a flight of escorts."

"Just a flight?" Edge asked, skepticism clear in her tone. Brian could tell that she'd picked up on what he had. Why would the enemy have only one flight of escorts? Were the Yukes really that short-handed after the Osean invasion? Somehow, Blaze didn't believe it for a second.

"Blaze to all planes, let's get going, but be careful. I'll bet my jet that there're other escorts out there. This is the Yuke mainland, there's no way they would be this short handed." The ace and his wingman rolled inverted and pulled hard on the stick, sending their fighters into bone-crunching Split-S's that would help them rejoin and reinforce Grimm and Chopper, who were still at lower altitudes, as were the flight's targets. Soon the Oseans caught sight of metal glints in the distance, the pack of retreating Yukes that they were pursuing. Blaze also spotted five more shining specks, trailing a few miles behind and above the transports.

"Blaze, tally-ho on enemy escort flight."

Four replies of 'copy' came back to him. Now they would see just how tough the enemy was when it came to protecting their homeland.

"Wardog flight, engage!" As one, eight tongues of flame shot from the back of the four fighters, pressing their pilots into their seats as the engines thrust them towards the enemy at supersonic speeds. At this closure rate, Blaze knew that he would have only a matter of seconds to pick and lock a target before he had to fire. He chose to square off against the leader of the five-ship, locking on and hitting the button to loose another AMRAAM.

"Fox Three, Blaze!" He called, watching as the missile hurtled for its target. To his very great surprise, the lead fighter pulled up, hard, and several balls of silver dropped from the rear of the jet.

'Chaff!' Forrest realized, grinning, even as his missile decided to go for the countermeasures and not its true target. Well, maybe these guys weren't going to be that easy after all! His heart began pounding as he pulled up to follow the fleeing leader. The other pilot was much slower than he was and the ISAF ace was force to pop his speed brakes and throttle back in order to stay behind the guy, who seemed to realize that he was in deep trouble. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Blaze knew that the numbers were not in their favor. It was five v four, not a numerically good thing, but the ace was counting on the fact that his men were all top notch and would be able to score a kill while keeping the fifth guy from killing them.

The plane in front of him rolled until one of its wings was pointed towards the ground and he pulled hard. Blaze followed, counting on the fact that his enemy's platform wasn't as good as the Raptor's.

'This guy's good!' passed through the ace's head as the plane in front reversed again, trying to force an overshoot. Forrest managed to stay with him, watching his airspeed like a hawk. If it dropped too low, then no one would be able to resist an easy kill, if it was too fast, Blaze would overshoot and then _he _would be the one on the run. Though, somehow he didn't think it would take that much to get the guy off of him.

'Ego, Forrest.' He couldn't go getting a big head. He'd seen what would happen, and _really_ liked living.

The Yuke in front rolled left and, for once, Brian displayed his humanity as he misjudged the move and rolled right.

'Shit! Of all the times…' The former Mobius 1's thoughts trailed off as he slammed the stick to the left and pulled, pushing the left rudder pedal all the way in. The F-22 responded, snapping its nose over and crushing the ace into the seat with the force of nine times earth's gravity. The enemy had seen the ace's error and reversed as well, the two jets passed and repeated the process, the one circle duel becoming a horizontal Rolling Scissors. It was a move in where the opposing jets kept reversing on each other, trying to get the other in front. Blaze scowled as his airspeed dropped below what he was comfortable with. This wouldn't do. He would need to take the fight vertical.

The ace broke the scissors, leveling off for a second or two, allowing his speed to build before he hauled back and sent the Raptor almost straight up. Predictably, instead of waiting for him, the Yuke came after him. Had the ISAF ace been in the other's position, he would've waited until the other guy came at him on a slash-and-dash, hopefully dodging the attack and then reversing into a Split-S that would allow him to regain the offensive.

The Yuke's plane was an F-16 Fighting Falcon, though most pilots preferred to call it a Viper. The Viper was a solid bird, there was no doubt about that, seeing as Blaze had flown one himself at one point, but it simply couldn't keep up with the air dominance F-22A. The smaller jet stalled as its pilot exceeded the critical angle of attack and plummeted earthward. To his credit, the pilot showed himself to be a master of stall recovery by shoving his nose down to reestablish the airflow over the wings, but by that time Forrest had done a reversal and was now coming in fast, switching to guns and already lining up the pipper.

The Vulcan cannon roared to life, sending close to a hundred rounds into the Yuke for the scant half-second that the legend held down the trigger. As he pulled up from the wreckage, the ace took a quick look around and managed to see Edge pursuing another Viper, but the fifth fighter in the flight they had ambushed was hot on her, not good enough to get lock, but skilled enough to keep Edge working more than she had to, which was making her lose energy, both in the form of airspeed and stamina.

"Hang on Edge, I'll clear your six." A single click came back over the mike, which was understandable, seeing as Nagase was in the middle of a gut-wrenching eight-g turn. A quick dance on HOTAS had the other guy lined up and ready to be shot down. The guy wasn't stupid. He broke off his hounding of Edge and pulled hard, going vertical. Blaze didn't hesitate to go with him. He'd accumulated a bit of speed from his run on the last guy and still had some of it left, which gave him the advantage in that he could catch the guy who would probably be running a lot slower, seeing as he'd been in the turning fight with Forrest's wingman.

Again, the distance closed and again Blaze's cannon came to life, spewing red tracers so fast that it looked like the Raptor was shooting a laser, not lead. A lucky shot nailed the Viper through the wing and blew off the lifting surface. At the same time, an AIM-9 burned from Wardog 2 and impacted Edge's target with deadly consequences.

As the two rejoined, Brian caught a flare from his downed adversary's cockpit. Relief flooded him as he realized that the guy had ejected. It was a little strange to feel that way, but no pilot loved to kill another pilot. They all lived for the challenge that air combat gave them, the ultimate roller coaster ride and a high that no amount of drugs could ever hope to match.

"Archer Splash One!" A second passed then,

"Yahoo! Chopper's got a kill!" The other element from Wardog returned to their flight lead and the four Osean fighters resumed their attack on the fleeing transports.

Things began to go south real fast at that moment. Blaze almost crashed into Nagase when a squeal of static and feedback flared across his headset, right in his ears.

"What the hell was that?!" The ace hit the radio. "Thunderhead, what was that all about?" He waited but there was no prompt response from the AWACS. When it did come through, it was all garbled and intelligible. "Thunderhead, I didn't copy, repeat last transmission." Then another, strange, voice came over the comms and this one Brian heard with perfect clarity.

"This the 8492nd Squadron. Commencing attack on hostile targets."

"ECCM! Restore communication link!" There was another peal of static and Thunderhead's voice came back loud and clear. "Hey! Those guys are attacking a college full of civilians!"

Forrest felt his blood turn into ice water, chilling him to his bone marrow. "What did you say?" He scowled and rolled in behind a C-130 and let loose with a Sidewinder. As the Hercules fell toward its demise, the AWACS for Wardog came up again.

"Attention, units operating in sector Charlie Oscar! Cease your attack at once!"

"That's right near us!" Grimm exclaimed.

"Hell, that's where we're at! You see those idiots anywhere?" Chopper asked. Blaze had a sudden feeling that Wardog shouldn't be around anymore, mission be damned.

"This is Blaze, we're pulling out! Set course for friendly territory immediately!"

"Kid, have you lost it?" Chopper shouted. "There are still targets out here!"

Nagase was surprised when Blaze's voice held more ice in it than she'd ever heard. "We're getting the hell out. Do _not_ question my orders right now. Is that clear Lieutenant?" There was dead silence over the comms after Forrest's harsh words. Normally, he and Chopper got on pretty well. Edge had lost count of the number of times she'd seen the two of them playing crud against some of the mechanics on base.

"Thunderhead to Wardog, did you engage in an attack on a civilian facility?"

"No." Blaze's tone still held that arctic chill. "Why would we do that? Wardog flight is disengaging."

"Roger. You still managed to down a significant portion of the enemy forces. I'll log the mission as a success." As the four egressed from combat, Blaze switched to the interception frequency. As his radio passed across the channels he heard a voice that sounded very familiar.

"Fox Two!"

'Who's shooting?' the ace wondered as he arrived at the right frequency, not wanting to waste time in listening further. He listened to the incensed words and curses from the retreating transports, but was unable to pick up anything that would've been useful to him. All he had now was a Sidewinder call from an unknown source. The thing that bugged him the most was that he knew he'd heard the voice somewhere before, but for the life of him, he couldn't place the voice.

'Oh well. It's gonna have to wait until I can get some time alone. Not to mention surviving the debrief. Perrault's gonna be pissed.' The only thing the ace didn't know was _how _pissed.

The entire flight found out when they got back to base that evening.

"Brian Forrest, Kei Nagase, Alvin Davenport, Hans Grimm, all three of you are now under arrest." There were no complaints from any of the pilots. They had been expecting something like this when they taxied up and saw four guys from the Security Forces on the base waiting for them. What they _hadn't_ expected was to held at gunpoint the moment the canopy opened. They'd been relieved of the nine millimeter pistol that each pilot carried as a precaution in case of an eject over hostile territory and lined up in front of Blaze's F-22.

"May I ask on what charges?" Forrest asked, keeping his hands carefully on his head. No need to give these guys an excuse to get rough. He'd know this was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. The head of the squad detaining them stepped up, the cloth patch for Master Sergeant on the sleeve of his BDUs.

"For war crimes and attacking a civilian facility."

"What!?" Chopper shouted. He quickly found himself staring down the barrels of five M-16s.

"On what proof?" Kei asked, not liking this one bit. "What proof do you have that it was us?" The Master Sergeant looked at her with flinty eyes.

"The attack occurred in sector Charlie Oscar. Wardog squadron was the only Osean force in that area. Process of elimination leaves you guys as the culprits."

Brian fixed the man with a gaze that had his blue eyes as hard as sapphires. "Why the hell would you think that?" He was pleased to see the NCO shift uncomfortably. "Obviously we weren't the only ones out there. How do you know that there wasn't a squadron out there that was attacking without orders?"

The Sergeant clearly didn't have an answer for that, and it showed on his face. "It doesn't matter, orders are orders and we've been ordered to detain you and take you to see Col. Perrault!" Four grumbling pilots were then taken inside and marched down the hall to the door with the burnished bronze plaque reading 'Perrault' on it.

"Enter."

The Four Wings of Sand Island were marched in then the MPs backed out of the room.

"Sit." The four pilots took a seat, sitting at attention. Somehow, Brian didn't think that they would be released from this position anytime soon.

'If he starts leveling unfounded accusation…' The ISAF ace's thoughts trailed off into daydreams that involved Perrault dying in any number of unpleasant ways.

"So." All daydreaming and shifting stopped at the commander's words. "What in the name of _HELL_ were you four thinking!?" The fat man stood, slamming his hands down on his desk, papers flying everywhere. "Attacking a civilian college?" He glared at Blaze, who met and held it. "Decided to add that little order, eh, Forrest?"

"Excuse me sir!?" He shot to his feet and strode up to the desk. "Are you accusing me of ordering the attack on the civilians?" His tone was low and dangerous. Blaze's teammates knew better than to try and call him back. You could do a lot to Brian Forrest and get away with it, but falsely accusing him and his men weren't acceptable. Ever.

The man smirked, obviously pleased that the pilot had caught on. As if it wasn't obvious. "You guys were the only four in that area. How could it be anyone but you?"

Edge noticed that her lead's hand clenched on the desk. Blaze was getting dangerously close to doing something he'd regret. She couldn't let it happen. "Brian! Calm down!"

Her plea appeared to fall on deaf ears, but finally, the former Mobius 1's hand relaxed and he returned to his seat.

"Now that the good Lieutenant has himself under control, I've been ordered to tell you that you four will be going to Oured in two days to go to military court. Until then, all of you are confined to you quarters and the mess hall. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" Three replies. The last one, Blaze, didn't open his mouth. He just glared at the commander before he stood and left, not bothering to salute and ask permission to leave.

'Damn him!' The ace was furious. They had no proof and yet the brass had decided to accuse his flight anyway! What's more, they seemed to think that _he'd_ been the one to give the order! Forrest finally noticed that two MPs had fallen in behind him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He growled, not in the mood to deal with anyone, even his flight.

"Sir, it's orders. We're supposed to escort…"

"I can find my way to my own room." The man interrupted. The two junior NCOs gulped. "Beat it. Go bug someone else." He stormed off, leaving the two frightened MPs in his wake. The ace knew that what he was doing could be considered insubordination and that he could be drummed out of the OADF for it.

'No big deal. Even if I don't want the fame, I can always go back to ISAF. They said I could resume my commission at any time.' He reached his quarters and slammed the door, locking it. Finally alone, and away from any accusing eyes and mouths, the ace gradually got himself under control. Now he began to puzzle over the mysterious missile call he'd heard over the radio. Brian flopped on his bed and began to dig deep into his memories, trying to place the voice. It didn't turn up anything and the ace didn't even notice when he dropped off to sleep.

The next day found Blaze tearing through the memorabilia from his Ribbon days. Something told him that the voice he was wondering about just wasn't to be found in Osea. Was it possible that ISAF had sent a squadron over? But why? It wasn't like they could help him out because no one knew where he was, not even Mobius Squadron. He'd specifically left them out of the loop so the press wouldn't be able to track him. Forrest had felt terrible doing it but knew that there was no other way. It was just too likely that someone would slip up and reveal his location.

A knock at his door had the ace scrambling to put all the stuff away until a familiar voice came through the wood.

"Hey Kid, mind if I come in?" It was Pops. Hm. His input would really help out here. Maybe the other ace would catch something that Forrest himself had missed.

"Sure. Door's unlocked."

A click later and the middle aged mechanic walked in. He took one look at the mementos strew around and closed the door like there was a mass-murder outside. "Brian, what are you doing?" The Raven asked, wondering why the other ace was tearing through a box of old stuff from his past life.

"Can you keep it under wraps?" Pops nodded, wondering what would be so earth-shaking that it had Mobius 1 turning to memories of his past. "Listen, on that last mission, when we were on the way out, I was listening to the intercepted comms."

"That doesn't explain why you're going through all your old Mobius 1 stuff."

The younger pilot heaved a sigh and looked Pops in the eye. "I think that there's a squadron from ISAF running around Osea."

"You're kidding. What proof do you have?"

"None, but I'm almost certain." The ace mechanic could hear the conviction in Blaze's tone.

"How?"

"The voice I heard wasn't from Osea for one. The accent doesn't match up."

"We don't have accents."

"Oh yeah you do. You don't notice because you've been living in Osea for the last fifteen years. I've been here not even half that time. Trust me, the accent is one from ISAF."

"Okay, let's assume you're right and an ISAF squadron is flying around Osea. What would they have to gain?"

Blaze shrugged. "I dunno," he went back to his mementos, "but I'm sure the answer is in here somewhere."

Pops shook his head, seriously wondering if the stress of the rapid-fire missions and the accusations against him were finally pushing the man to his breaking point. "Blaze, I dunno. Maybe you heard it during the invasion and just don't remember hearing?" The other pilot didn't reply. He held up a disk and looked at it.

"Maybe." He seemed to be talking to himself as much as Pops. The ace slid the CD into the DVD player that was built into the miniature TV in his room. Grainy black and white images began moving across the screen along with some static-laden radio transmissions. The dialogue was hardly understandable, but Pops wasn't Huckebien the Raven for nothing and he knew gun camera footage when he saw it.

"What is this?"

"Gun camera footage from the Continental War." Blaze skipped through the DVD until he stopped at a massive air battle, with some hulking monstrosity in the background.

"Where is this?"

"Megalith."

"Damn!" Pops swore. "That thing's huge!"

"The camera doesn't do it justice. I have yet to find anything as big as it is. Even Arkbird isn't as large." Blaze apparently didn't find what he was looking for and shut the DVD off with a sigh, then began loading his trunk up again. When he finished and had slid the trunk back into its place he sat down on his bed. "So. What did you come for again?"

"Just checking up on you. I wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid. There're rumors all over the base that you terrified the crap out of two MPs." The older man clapped Blaze on the shoulder. "Good luck tomorrow."

"Yeah. Later Pops."

"See you when you get back, Kid."

The older pilot left and Blaze was once again left with his ponderings about the voice he heard over the radio.

A sudden unlikely, _insane_, theory hit him at that moment and made the Ace of Aces sit bolt upright from the laying down position he'd been in. He paid for it and cracked his head on the low bottom of the top bunk.

"It can't be! Could it?" He had a vague idea of who the voice could belong to. But the last time Forrest had heard it was during the assault on Megalith.

Was it possible that Mobius Squadron was in Osea?

* * *

Oh come on, admit that you saw this coming! An Ace combat 04/5 crossover without Mobius Squadron? That's like a balloon with no helium. Anyway, if the Ribbons appear or not remains to be seen, but in all liklihood, they probably will, though not until the distant future. Blaze was a little angry in this chapter, but I would be too if my base commander just started accusing you of something I didn't do. As for the change in the sector name, I know that it's Charlie Omega, but Omega isn't part of the phonetic alphabet, so I changed it to Oscar, which is in the alphabet. Now the Glossary.

**ECCM:** Stands for Electronic Counter Countermeasures. The next step up from ECM, the one being jammed tries to unjam and then they get jammed again, and so on. There's really no limit to the amount of C's you could stick in here, so it could be ECCCCCCCM. Mind-blowing, isn't it?

**BDU:** Battle Dress Uniform. The American Air Force's name for the camouflage uniform. Called Army Combat Uniform or ACU in the US Army.

**MP:** Military Police. Self-explanatory.

**Rolling Scissors: **A move done in an fighter in which the two adversaries keep reversing on each other. Kinda looks like a double-helix if you were to trace the paths. The whole point is to get behind the other guy, like in all dogfights.


	10. Accusations

Disclaimer: Own nadda

Last time: An intercept mission goes horribly wrong and Blaze begins to have suspicions that an ISAF squadron is running around Osea

This time: The dreaded hearing.

* * *

The next day found the four combat pilots marching out to their Raptors with grim faces. Normally, the quartet would be bantering back and forth, trading good-natured insults and other minor pleasantries. Now, though, there was no conversation, only grim faces that held worry, determination, anger, and (in Blaze's case) puzzlement.

Pops could see straight off that the former ISAF pilot hadn't given up on his searching for whomever the voice on the radio belonged to. Truth be told, the Raven thought that Blaze was starting to crack. Maybe this kid shouldn't go out on his next mission when he returned, it might put the other four in danger and even if Blaze was the leader they could manage without him until the shrinks got through with him.

Blaze's blue eyes were far off, his mind elsewhere as his hands did their duties on their own. As the ace's mind wandered over memories of missions past, his hands connected his g-suit air hose, clipped his mask to his helmet and put the hose in the socket to supply him with air. Electrical systems and MFD screens came to life and not once Blaze's eyes truly focused on his tasks.

"Tell me you're not still on that track are you?" Pops was mildly surprised to see the Ace of Aces jump at the sudden noise. Of course, the old veteran had expected it, seeing as he'd been standing there since the ace had climbed into his cockpit.

Forrest seemed to shake himself. "Huh? Sorry Pops, guess I wasn't listening. What now?"

Now Pops' face grew stern. "Listen Kid!" he said loud and with force. Thankfully, his voice didn't carry any farther than a few feet from the plane and the other four were busy with their own F-22s, otherwise there might have been weird questions. "Get a grip will you? If you keep zoning out like this you're gonna kill yourself or someone else! Now forget about that voice and get your head out of your ass!" Ice blue eyes held shock and surprise. Pops had never shouted at _anyone_ before. Brian certainly didn't expect to be on the receiving end.

"Pops…" The ace trailed off, not knowing what to say to the man now.

The old mechanic turned around to descend the bright yellow roll-away stairs, leaving Blaze without a word.

'I can't let him fly like this. He'll get them killed. Brian, you needed to be yelled at, whether you know it or not!'

Back in the F-22, Forrest shook his head. 'Well that was a little overdramatic,' he thought, amused. The smirk on his face faded. 'Still, he had a point. I do need to get my head out of my ass. Flying like that will _not_ help us out now.' The former Mobius 1 snapped his mask into place and lowered his visor, becoming one of the many faceless fighter pilots in the world.

"Wardog flight, taxi to runway 27." Blaze frowned at the ground controller's voice. It was hard to hear over the radio, but there was definetly more than a hint of frostiness in the static-filled voice. Something told Forrest that it wouldn't be any different on the way to Oured. That feeling persisted as he read back the instructions and went for the runway. The ace raised his visor and rubbed his eyes, knowing that it was going to be a _long_ flight to the capital.

Six hours later and the four F-22s were on approach to Apito International Airport. It was one of the only major airports in the vicinity of Oured. Sure there were many minor fields and, given that the capital of Osea was here, there was a OADF base not too far away, though it was more like Sand Island than anything else because there was a lot of more advanced training going on there. If it was only Sand Island that handled the advanced training, the base would have to move from its current place and Brian knew that the penny-pinching higher-ups would never go for it.

"Wardog flight, Apito Tower, cleared to land runway 23 Center." Blaze rattled back the instructions then angled his jet for the center strip of gray on the airport that was still more than twenty miles distant. Though, with an international airport the size of Apito, they might as well have been right on top of it.

A few blurred minutes later and the four gunmetal gray fighters touched down, rolling to a stop before gunning the engines once again to get them moving for the nearest taxiway exit, Romeo in this case.

"Doesn't look like a friendly committee for us," Chopper commented. Forrest couldn't agree more. Ahead of the arriving pilots was a whole convoy of dark limos and guys with black suits.

'Ten-to-one says they're armed.' Blaze thought wryly. It didn't take a genius to see that. Every single man had one hand in his jacket. 'If these guys aren't Secret Service, then I don't know who is!' But it told him just how seriously the brass was taking this whole 'Wardog bombed the citizens' thing. Too bad the top didn't know who he really was. They would be begging him for his forgiveness on bended knee if they did!

As his Raptor's fans spun down he got on the comm., managing to catch the others before they turned off the main power. "Okay, listen up. No funny movements or wise-ass remarks. These guys are serious."

"No shit, Kid." Chopper shot back, his tone none too friendly. Blaze had to let the remark go. It was clear enough to the ace that his comrade was just as tense, maybe even more so, than the former Mobius 1. After all, Brian had faced panels before, though that had been for after-action reports on major campaigns like the offensive on Megalith and Stonehenge. Never had he faced one that was going to be this hostile.

'Well, time to face the music,' he thought to himself as he descended the folding ladder stuffed away in a small compartment underneath the canopy.

As the ace was finishing up his three-sixty walkaround, one of the agents approached him. He was the stereotypical bodyguard, huge, shaven head, tall and muscles the size of Blaze's neck.

"You Brian Forrest?" he asked roughly. Brian had to do a quick double take at the guy's voice. It wasn't low and gravelly like he expected, rather it was light, almost high pitched, but with this guy's physique, you'd never think to question him on it.

"Yes sir," the ISAF ace replied, his hand making a reflexive twitch for the holster with his nine-millimeter in it, but he knew better than to try for it. These guys were friendly (sort of) and it wouldn't make their situation any better if Blaze was to try and off one of the good guys just because he made the ace nervous.

The gorilla gestured with one meaty hand. "Come with us. We're supposed to take you guys to the hearing."

The ace gestured to his pilots, who were standing by the nose of his jet, watching the whole encounter and they quickly fell in line behind him, sticking unusually close. He wondered why but then it occurred to the former Mobius 1 just how young these pilots were. He himself was in his mid to late twenties, but the oldest among his wingmen was Edge at twenty-four. Grimm was something like nineteen and Chopper was twenty-two, twenty-three.

"Relax," Forrest said with a smile, picking up on the sick expressions on the younger pilots' faces. They sat down in the plush leather interior of the first limo. A Secret Service guy got in beside them and the whole cavalcade set off, probably heading for the Pentagon, the center of the Osean military. "We'll be fine. They have no case against us." The ace's gaze turned sharp and he looked each of the pilots in the eye. "Don't let them tell you anything different." The reminder that there was no case against them seemed to take the edge off and the pilots went to various activities, if only to keep the stress away.

Chopper pulled out an MP3 and it wasn't long before faint whispers of rock music reached Blaze's ears. Grimm leaned his head against the tinted glass and closed his eyes while Edge, on the other side of Chopper, looked out the window at the capital as it rolled past.

Blaze was content to withdraw into his own head and begin puzzling out the mystery voice he'd heard during the mission. His thoughts were interrupted by Edge's voice.

"It's so…peaceful here."

The former ISAF ace looked out the window as well. "Yeah. You'd never know that there's a war going on the other coast."

It was true. There was no sign of MPs in the streets on guard detail, no fighters roared by overhead, no annoying news updates in the electronic store displays. Nothing. Nothing at all to suggest that men and women in the Osean Defense Forces were losing their lives, even then, in a battle on another continent far from this calm scene. If either pilot thought the scenes whipping past were strange, neither showed it.

"Right," said the gorilla guard when the limo rolled up to a fancy hotel. "This is where you four get off. MPs should be by in three hours to escort you to the hearing." That said, he turned on one overly polished heel and strode away.

"Well that was friendly," Chopper remarked as the four pilots moved into the air conditioning of the ritzy hotel.

"At least they had the decency to put us up in a hotel instead of some NCO barracks on a base." Blaze answered.

"Hey!" Grimm said in a pretend-hurt voice. "_I'm_ an NCO!"

Edge laughed lightly. "Sorry Grimm, but you're not an NCO yet. Senior Airmen don't count." The two lapsed into a good-natured argument that lasted until the group had gone up the sweeping red-carpeted staircases that bracketed the ebony check-in desk. Blaze led the group down the hall at the top of the stairs, looking for their room numbers.

"100…101…102…104! Here it is." The ace pulled out his keycard and unlocked the door, leaving the others to find their own rooms.

He whistled softly at the accommodations. The bed was king sized with red satin sheets. Mahogany paneling ran all around the room, polished to a shine by someone, probably the maintenance staff. Gentle lighting made the room seem open and warm and the bay window on the other side of the room was giving him a great view of the Mall, that walkway with the monuments and museums ringing it. He opened the wardrobe that sat against the right wall, straight across from the bed and hung his garment bag inside. The bag held his dress blue uniform. He had to look good in front of the panel and being in his rumpled olive flight suit wasn't going to cut it.

Forrest unzipped the bag and looked at the uniform inside, hoping it wasn't destroyed from its ride in his Raptor's side bay. The light blue button-down shirt was still flawless, but that was no surprise, seeing as he'd starched the thing enough for it to stand without him in it. The navy blue pants were in the same shape, their creases sharp enough that it looked as if the fabric could cut you if you didn't watch yourself. Next were the shoes. Brian pulled them out of the bottom of the bag and carefully unwrapped them. The shoes had a coat on them that left them with a mirror finish and if scratched there was no way to fix it. He held them up to the light and turned the shoes every which way, looking for the smallest scuff or imperfection

Nothing.

Well that was good. Now he pulled his hat out of the pocket on his calf and looked it over. It had some lint on it, but that was easily remedied with tape or lint roller. He pulled a roller from inside one of his spotless shoes and set to work.

Now the former Mobius 1 flopped onto the bed, marveling at the softness of the sheets and mattress. These people didn't skimp on the luxuries here. Forrest wondered why the brass would bother putting them up here, but figured it was some ploy to try and loosen their mouths. After all, comfortable people tended to be more of a motor mouth than a tense person.

Brian clicked on the plasma TV hanging on the wall across from the window and started channel surfing. He settled on a documentary on the History Channel and sat back to watch. He got a surprise when the title of the show came up.

"Birds of War: The Mobius Squadron?" He read, puzzled. Well, he didn't need to be a genius to figure out whom the thing was about. The pilot grinned. "Well, let's see how the 'experts' think." Half of the documentary had Mobius 1 rolling his eyes in amusement. Their account of Stonehenge was particularly interesting. The so-called experts seemed to think that his method of destroying the railguns was a coincidence. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Not only was it deliberate, it was preplanned…

"_Okay you guys," the Intel Officer said as the assembled pilots stopped their babble. "It's time. We're going after Stonehenge!" Murmurs and whispers broke out amongst the assembled pilots once again, this time in regards to the objective._

"_Stonehenge?"_

"_Have they lost it? We're gonna get killed!" _

_Brian Forrest just sat there, the patch of the 110th Tactical Fighter Wing standing out proudly on his right shoulder. Mobius 1 just listened to the ongoing exclamations without any real interest. He was busy studying the massive sit-rep map behind the briefing officers._

"_I assume that you have a plan for this?" he asked quietly, but all talk ceased once again. They had all heard of the ace in recent weeks. Forrest still wasn't at the legendary status that he would climb to on this mission, but his name was getting around, both in ISAF and Erusia, and most of the pilots in the room had flown with him at one point or another, so they knew that when Major Forrest spoke up, you better shut up and listen._

_The Intel guy nodded. "Yes. We do indeed have a plan. Here's what we know of Stonehenge from pre-war satellite pictures." He clicked the device in his hand and the screen behind him changed. "According to the defectors that Major Forrest rescued on his last sortie, the cannon emplacements are protected by AA guns and SAM sites. However, the real threat is this thing here." A red circle drew itself around a structure in the middle of the ring of cannons. "This is an ECM emitter, powerful enough to overcome even the ECCM from our E-3s. One squad will take it out while others go on a Wild Weasel mission and engage the triple-A. After the ECM emitter is taken out, the Major will engage the cannons directly."_

"_Excuse me sir," a voice said from the back. "And just how is Major Forrest supposed to take the cannons down by himself? I mean, it's too much to assume that they aren't armored."_

_The officer nodded in agreement. "Yes, you are correct. However, there is one potential weakness that the Erusians have ignored." He clicked the thing in his hand again and now was showing a side view of one of the gargantuan railguns. "The major weak point is here." He used a laser pointer to highlight the control booth at the top of the cannons. "This is the controls for the cannon. There's one on each of the guns and the defectors say that the enemy pinched pennies and didn't make it resistant to anything larger than a .50 cal. 20mm rounds out of an aircraft cannon should be more than enough to take it down."_

"_Ammunition will be a problem." Mobius 1 pointed out simply._

"_True, but if anyone can pull this off, it's you, Major. Plus one of the cannons, according to latest intel, is down for maintenance and shouldn't pose a threat."_

"_How recent is the intel?" Forrest asked, knowing that if it was too old he would be underestimating the enemy and that was always bad._

"_It's from the defectors, so it should be fairly reliable." The other man replied. A silence fell over the collected pilots and command staff as each one began reflecting on the mission ahead and every single one of them wondered if they would be coming home this time. _

_The commander spoke up. "One more thing. You guys are attacking Stonehenge directly. Expect the Yellows." The grave silence became total. The ones who had survived the attack on the oil refinery some time ago were remembering how they were torn apart by the Erusian aces' skill._

'_Not this time,' Forrest vowed to himself. 'This time, I'm gonna get at least one!'_

"_Okay. Anymore questions?" There were none. Each man in the room knew his duty and was determined to fulfill it to the end. "Well then, good luck. Dismissed!"_

_Everyone stood and headed for the hangar, Forrest jogging at the front of the pack, dead set on getting airborne and taking out that damn cannon…_

"Blaze?" There was a knock on the door, jolting the ace from his recollections of the past.

"Yeah?" He called back, shutting off the TV, hoping whoever was at the door didn't hear it. Well, in this apartment-like room, it probably didn't matter.

"It's Grimm, you wouldn't happen to have a lint roller do you?"

"Yeah, give me a minute." He found the requested item and brought it to the door.

"Thank you, sir." Archer said gratefully as he got the roller from his Captain. "Chopper doesn't have one and I forgot which room Edge was in."

Blaze shrugged and went back to the documentary, watching it to the end, laughing at some of the speculation about him and his disappearance. Before he knew it, it was time for the hearing.

The ace pulled on the blue shirt and pants, making sure his gig line was perfect before he tied the tie in the appropriate double Windsor knot. He looked over the silver bar on his hat, making sure it was spotless. When he was satisfied, Forrest headed to the door and headed for the lobby.

Sure enough, the promised MPs were there, also in blues and weaponless, but easily identifiable because of the berets clamped in one hand and the badge over the left shirt pocket.

"Lieutenant Forrest?" One of the MPs asked unnecessarily. It should've been obvious. Blaze's name was on the nametag over his right pocket and the hat tucked into his belt clearly showed his rank.

"Yes uh…" He looked at the cloth patch on the man's upper arm and his name plate. "Sergeant King."

"Where's the rest of you're flight, sir?" King asked, no real hostility in his voice. The man seemed likable enough, a lot more so than the gorilla from the Secret Service.

"Probably getting ready." He cracked a grin, showing humor he didn't feel. "So here to escort the big bad criminals to the hearing?"

"Yes sir," the second MP answered, proudly wearing the three chevrons of a Senior Airman. His nametag gave his name to be Jackson. "Still, I don't see what good it does to send us out here without any weapons."

"You're not kidding," King muttered. "What're we gonna do if the best damn squadron in Osea tries something?"

Blaze was slightly taken aback at the comment. "Sarge?" He didn't need to finish the question.

"Yes sir. I meant what I said. Not all of us think that you guys have gone off the deep end."

"And how did you arrive at that?"

King smiled. "Well sir, your squadron hasn't done anything against orders before has it? Why would you start now?" He looked at his partner. "Right?"

"Yes sir!" The younger soldier answered heartily.

"So how do you know about us?"

"Well sir, a mutual friend of ours is in one of the divisions that went in during the invasion. He said that you guys were really something else." The Sergeant said. "Why would our best go crazy?"

Blaze smiled gratefully. "Nice to see not everyone jumps on the bandwagon."

"Hey Kid!" The former ISAF pilot turned around and saw his flight walking towards them, dressed like him in the OADF blues. "Ready to go?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Let's get this over with." The seriousness of their situation came crashing back down on the four at that moment, but they steeled themselves and allowed King and Jackson to lead them to a white minivan that would take them to the Pentagon.

The room was stark, all pale tile and plaster walls with harsh fluorescent lighting illuminating the windowless prison cell, with simple black tea tables and hard plastic chairs strewn around the room. For the Four Wings of Sand Island, it was quite the change from the plush accommodations that they'd been put up in back in Oured. Blaze supposed that it was all a part of some kind of psychological warfare scheme that the top brass had cooked up to make it easier for them to talk. An emotional roller coaster ride was a very good way to soften somebody up.

An aide, clad in the dress uniform of the Osean Marine Corps came in and looked down at the four seated pilots who just watched him blankly, knowing that he was there to call one of them in.

"Senior Airman Hans Grimm, the board would like to see you." The Marine said in the solid and decisive manner that typified the service that the man hailed from. Grimm gulped and stood, paling visibly.

"Don't worry Grimm." Blaze said calmly. "Just tell what happened and you'll be fine. They won't be able to pin anything on us if all of our accounts match up."

Grimm nodded, not replying and Forrest couldn't blame him. The younger man looked as if he would hurl if he opened his mouth. The Marine opened the door with a pointed look and Archer stepped into the hall, lost from the view of the other three when the bland varnished door closed with an ominous 'snick'.

The remaining three pilots lapsed into various lethargic states or tried to read the horribly out of date magazines that littered the tables. Nothing could distract them, though and all eyes were on Grimm when he came back into the room some forty minutes later, still pale, but he had a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"So?" Chopper asked as the Airman dropped limply into a chair. "How was it?"

"Brutal," Archer replied, tiredness permeating his voice. "They were doing everything they could to get something incriminating out of me."

"That's no surprise," Blaze answered. The heads of the other three swiveled toward him. "Look, a _civilian_ college town was bombed and Yuktobania is screaming bloody murder over it. Oured wants to save face with the rest of the world by trying to find and discipline the culprits." The ISAF pilot scowled. "And as it happens, _we_ make the most convenient targets since we were operating in the area at the time."

"First Lieutenant Alvin Davenport."

Chopper stood at the Marine's words and followed the man out. Edge looked at her flight lead. "But how do they accuse us with no evidence?"

"They _do_ have evidence," Blaze answered. "It's the fact that we were in the area at the time and the mission logs show it. The downside for us is that hardly any of our kills were made with guns, so the gun camera footage is a moot point."

"Couldn't they get the tapes of our transmissions with Thunderhead?" Brian was shaking his head before Nagase had even finished speaking.

"ECM, remember? Any radio contact with us at the time was shaky at best, and if we tried to show our denials after Thunderhead cleared the radio, they would just say we were denying it in the middle of the attack. These guys are the ones who authorized the F-22's construction, so they know perfectly well that the Raptor is more than capable of jamming on its own, so trying to say we weren't the ones doing the jamming is out."

Kei bit her lip. "We're in a tight spot."

Blaze nodded slowly. "No kidding. I'll be amazed if they let us off unscathed." That grim thought killed any desire for conversation and the pair lapsed into silence again.

It was once again past forty minutes until Chopper returned, and he looked livid. No time was given for questions because Edge was called almost immidaiatly.

'Guess they're saving me for last.' Forrest thought. 'Oh boy. This is gonna be fun.'

The allocated forty minutes passed slowly, but finally, the stark door opened and Edge staggered back into the room looking completely drained. Butterflies fluttered in the former Mobius 1's stomach as he realized that he was up next. He always got nervous before boards, be they benevolent or hostile. It was something that had persisted from when he'd been a teenager. In high school, he'd been the quiet one, sitting in the back of the room, doing nothing but schoolwork. Taking a speech class had helped somewhat, but he still got nervous.

"First Lieutenant Brian Forrest."

Blaze stood and left with the Marine. They strode down the hall at a brisk pace, passing other aides and others who worked in the center of Osea's military brains. More than one looked at him with puzzled glances, wondering what in the heck a mere First Lieutenant was doing in the _Pentagon_. Finally the pair arrived at a set of heavy double oak doors.

The Marine aide pushed them open and stepped aside, allowing the officer through. It was a foyer to another set of double doors. A brass plaque on the left door proclaimed that this was briefing room number 13.

'Great. It's a good thing that I'm not superstitious,' Blaze thought dryly. 'Right now, I'd be scared out of my mind.'

"Go on through," the aide said softly. "They're expecting you." With that slightly threatening phrase the Marine backed out, shutting the doors behind him.

Now the ace was alone and facing a panel that would decide what he did from here. If they convicted Wardog, Forrest was going to pack up and head for Usea again.

'No,' he amended, 'I'll tell them who I am and we'll _all_ go.' He smiled, despite the situation he was in. 'They've made it this far, so I'd have no problem letting them into Mobius Squadron.' If they weren't convicted, though, nothing would change. Realizing that there was no point in delaying the inevitable, the ace raised a fist and knocked solidly on the oak doors.

He only had to wait a moment.

"Enter."

Forrest reached down and twisted the over-shined brass knob. The door swung open without a sound and the former Mobius 1 found himself in a spacious room. Clearly there was supposed to be other tables in here, but as it was, there was only one, directly across from him, behind which sat various generals, all of them with more stars than even Forrest had had. Of course, that wasn't really that hard, seeing as he'd been only a Major General. What really gave him a jolt, though, was man sitting in the center of the panel. He was clearly a civilian, but there was no mistaking who it was.

Vice President Applerouth. The second most powerful man in Osea.

Brian marched straight up to the table and stopped the appropriate two paces away, standing at attention. The ace's right hand snapped up his gig line, stopping just next to his eyebrow.

"First Lieutenant Brian Forrest reports as ordered!" He barked in a clipped tone.

The VP returned the salute, and as his dropped, so did the ace's. "I assume," Applerouth said in a solemn voice, "that you already know why you are here, Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, then let's begin." He gestured to a chair that had magically appeared behind the fighter pilot without him noticing. Some aide had probably brought it in when Forrest had been standing at attention. Now the VP gestured to it. "Please, sit."

Blaze sat…and promptly had to lock his legs up to stop himself from sliding out of it. The front legs of the wooden chair's legs had been shorn off. That made the whole thing sit at an angle, forcing anyone who sat in it to sit at attention. He found himself at eye level with the Vice President.

"Now," the politician said, folding his hands on the table, "where shall we begin? General Sutherland, how about you lead off?"

"Gladly." The general clicked something in his hand and the projector mounted somewhere above Blaze's head came to life. "Go ahead and gaze, Lieutenant," the general said. Forrest complied and looked at the screen behind the panel. "Look familiar?"

"Yes sir."

"What is it, Mr. Forrest?"

"Sir, it is the sit-rep from Wardog Squadron's most recent mission."

Sutherland continued, "Care to tell us what happened, Lieutenant?"

"Sir. Wardog's mission was to intercept the retreating Yuktobanian forces as they tried to regroup from the OADF's invasion of the Yuktobaninan southern shoreline. Our TOT was 1330 Zulu time." Out of his peripheral vision, the ace could see the other members of the panel taking notes, probably writing down what he said to compare it to the other three. "We were equipped with an air-to-air loadout and proceeded to engage the enemy transports, at one time dealing with an escort squadron and an E-3 Sentry."

"A fairly normal mission then?" Applerouth asked, surveying the ace with calculating eyes.

"That's correct sir," Blaze replied. "A by-the-book intercept."

"Apparently boring enough for you to authorize a strike against a civilian college?"

Rage erupted within the former Mobius 1 as accusations of actually_ allowing _that to happen surface once again. When he spoke again, the ace's tone was more than a little frosty. "No sir. I never, nor would I ever, authorize a strike against a non-military target."

"So where did the jamming come from?" Sutherland asked, doubt in his voice. "The F-22A Raptor that Wardog employs is more than capable of jamming enemy, and therefore, friendly radar."

Now Blaze's cold voice had a hint of fire in it. "Sir, we _never_ went anywhere near a college town. I had no idea that there was even one _there_ until it came under attack."

Applerouth looked to his right at another one of the brass. "Admiral, what do you think?"

Surprise rippled through the ace at the VP's words. Admiral? This was a multi-branch hearing? What was going on? Unless the Admiral and others were there to be a third party, seeing as General Sutherland and the Vice President seemed to think Wardog was guilty. Secretly, the pilot hoped so.

The man, just out of Brian's sight, which was why he was so surprised, sighed. "Mr. Applerouth, you know how I feel. I have seen no evidence to support the fact that the Wardog Squadron would be involved with the bombing of a civilian college. So far, the testimony from Mr. Forrest and his subordinates match."

It was almost too good to be true. Someone was actually taking their side.

"Really, Admiral?" Sutherland asked, skepticism clear in his voice. "I thought…" Whatever Sutherland thought was a moot point as the door burst open as (another) aide rushed up to the desk looking terrified beyond all reason.

"What?" The general demanded. "We're in the middle of a hearing here!"

"Terribly sorry sir," the new arrival said in a rush, "but there's a…problem."

"What problem?" Applerouth demanded.

"Well," the aide said with a nervous glance at Blaze, who was still trying to burn a hole through the sit-rep screen behind the table. "There's been an…attack."

The reaction was predictable. Every member of the brass went pale and Blaze broke bearing to look at the messenger with unbelieving eyes. An attack?

"Where?" Sutherland demanded, asking the question that Forrest would've asked in another second or two.

"A college town called Bana, about fifty miles south of here."

"Well it's obviously not a threat to Oured, so let's continue with the hearing." Even Sutherland looked at the Vice President with disbelief.

"Sir?" Blaze asked, not believing his ears. Was the VP really gonna let innocents die? "You can't be serious!"

"I am, Lieutenant Forrest. You are going to stay here and finish your hearing."

The aide cut Brian off before he could argue. "Sir, it's a…a chemical attack."

"What!?" Sutherland and Forrest shouted together.

The former ISAF pilot rounded on the Vice President of Osea with fire in his blue eyes. "A chemical attack on a college town. Still call that no threat?" He hesitated then added reluctantly, "Sir?"

The other man looked at the former Mobius 1 with cold eyes. "This is obviously a retaliatory attack for your strike on the Yuke college town."

Forrest opened his mouth to retort, but General Sutherland cut him off. "There's no time to argue. We have to deal with this attack now!"

The aide spoke again. "Sir, there's one more thing. Our Early Warning Network has picked up Yuke fighters crossing our Air Defense Zone and setting course for Apito International Airport."

Sutherland sighed before looking at Blaze. "Lieutenant, your F-22s are at Apito right now, aren't they?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Take your squadron to Apito and get airborne immidiatly to intercept. I'll call ahead to make sure your birds are fueled and armed." Blaze was about to thank him, but then the general blew it. "If you all really are innocent, then I suggest you prove it out there on the battlefield!"

Forrest only spared the man a scowl of dissatisfaction before he charged from the room, running like the hounds of hell were after him, never mind the regs that said no running in the dress uniform, to collect his squadron and prepare for combat once again.

* * *

And there you have it. Sorry that this Chapter didn't have much action, but I wanted a little change of pace. Also, I would like to apologize for the delay in updating. Between school, getting sick, and a minor case of writer's block, I was _way_ behind schedule. Sorry. Thanks to AtrumUnas for pointing out a minor error which has been corrected.

**Glossary**

**Gig line: **It's the line formed in the dress uniform by the edge of the button down shirt, the edge of the belt buckle and the edge of the cloth that covers the pants zipper.

**TOT: **Time on Target. Simply the time at which an aerial strike package reaches its target

**Zulu:** Another name for Greenwich Mean Time or GMT. It is the time to which all aviation-related operations, be they civilian or military, are set to.

**General Sutherland:** Any Gundam SEED fan should recognize this name. He's the jerk who was in charge of the inquiry at JOSH-A base in Alaska when Archangel finally made it there. Therefore, I don't own the name.


	11. Did I just see that?

Disclaimer: This is nothing but a product of my overactive imagination.

Last time: Blaze gets infuriated at his hearing, but is saved when word comes that Bana and Apito are under attack.

This time: Wardog takes to the skies once again.

* * *

"Man, this sucks!" Chopper shouted over the radio as his hands flew over panel after panel, trying to get his Raptor ready to scramble. Forrest had burst into the room and hurridly explained the situation then they'd been carted off to the hotel at breakneck speed to hop into flight suits and get back to the airport. Now all four were trying to get their jets off the ground before the strike force from Yuktobania and gained air superiority, essentially taking the high ground and keeping the Raptors on the ground and making them easy prey.

"Less talk, more checklists," Blaze said shortly, knowing that every moment Chopper spent blabbing was another moment wasted. He switched frequencies, both to get clearance from tower and save him from the pilot's inevitable retort. "Apito Tower, Wardog flight. Are we good to go?"

The answer was swift. "That's affirmative Wardog. We've cleared the pattern and halted all ground traffic, you're cleared to get to the nearest runway and get airborne." The ace clicked his mike, even as he switched back to the channel his flight was using.

"Okay guys, let's get the hell out of here."

"Roger!"

The former ISAF pilot looked around and saw the nearest runway marker sign, a red rectangle with the numbers for the runway emblazoned in white lettering. It didn't matter if it was the correct one for the wind conditions or not. The leader of Wardog was sure that their F-22s had the brute force necessary to get them into the air. The moment Blaze's nose wheel passed over the Hold Short Line, he rammed his throttle to the firewall and lanced down the runway like a bat out of hell, speeding past parked C-5 Galaxies that were just sitting on the Osean National Air Guard ramp. If he'd been more aware, the ace would've realized that most of the cargo planes in the nation were currently flying men and material to the front on an almost round-the-clock schedule.

Seconds later and the ISAF ace was airborne, pulling up the gear and getting his radar set up to sweep the skies in front of him, eyes watching the radar screen intently for even the faintest blip.

"Tower!" Forrest barked, "Where are they!"

"Uh, Standby," the controller said as he checked his scope for any hint of the approaching Yukes. "Got 'em! Four contacts bearing 050!"

"Roger!" That was behind him, seeing as he'd launched from 18. The ace grunted hard as he was crushed by nine Gs from throwing his fighter into a hard one-eighty.

In short order the Four Wings of Sand Island had formed up and were speeding towards the approaching enemy.

"Alright guys," Forrest said tersely. "Go into the Wall formation. We're gonna splash these guys before they even know what hit them!" The Wall was a formation that put all the fighters in the flight in a straight line with the edges of their radar cones overlapping, allowing them to see everything in front of them and mass the firepower that they carried. It was a formation that was synonymous with the F-15 Eagle, but Blaze had a hunch that it wouldn't matter much if they used it with the Raptor, seeing as the F-22 carried just as much ammo.

Brian's fingers danced on the HOTAS, locking up a target and getting ready to pop off an AMRAAM. "Okay, everybody got a lock?" Four affirmatives came back. "Roger that. Right, Blaze, Fox Three!"

"Edge, Fox Three!"

"Chopper, Fox Three!"

"Archer, Fox Three!"

Four white rockets dropped from the bellies of the speeding Raptors and ignited their motors. Off the missiles went, tracking their assigned bogies and flying in formation like a flight of trained pilots.

Meanwhile, Wardog Flight was in the middle of evasive action in an attempt to spoof any enemy missiles that might be heading their way.

Blaze's radio crackled. "Uh, Tower to Wardog, um, just a heads up, I lost all four of the inbound contacts." The operator sounded puzzled and the former ISAF pilot wondered why until he realized that the controller was a civilian and not a military-trained one. Briefly Forrest wished that the controller talking to them was one of the retired veterans who seemed to litter Osea's passenger airlines and ATC facilities. At least that way the four could be sure that a competent set of eyes was watching them.

But the ace had to give credit where credit was due. The guy, with no military training or background, had allowed them to make a proper intercept of the enemy and shoot them down before the airport could be attacked.

"It's no big deal," Forrest answered the controller. "It just means we hit our mark." The tower gave an affirmative and began sequencing the four fighters into the pattern, so they could land. That was when things started to go to hell in a hurry.

"Huh!? Hey! Tanks are coming out of those transports!"

The alarmed voice sent the civilian airliners into a panic, not being trained for this kind of thing, and also served to put Wardog on the attack. Not waiting for clearance, Blaze rolled over onto his back and dove, blasting for the ground, trying to get his gun reticule on one of the shadowy boxes that were currently moving out from in front of the C-5s parked on the guard ramps. The ace knew that his 20mm shells wouldn't do jack squat to a tank like that, but the mammoth transport plane behind it would do some damage.

The glowing green circle on his HUD slid over the Galaxy's wing, around the spot that Forrest knew the fuel cells to be located.

'Hope this works,' the ace thought and squeezed the trigger. A rain of hot lead spewed from the cannon in his right wing, making Swiss cheese of the cargo plane's fuel tanks. To Blaze's great surprise and satisfaction, the Galaxy promptly became a mammoth fireball that shot hundreds of feet into the air. The moving tank, plus the one that had just started to emerge from the cavernous hold, were hit by a massive shockwave and a rain of speeding shrapnel, turned into slag before they even knew what hit them.

As he pulled up and away, Forrest started barking out the orders that would put Wardog on the attack. Like avenging angels, the other three F-22s rolled and dove, imitating his earlier maneuver. Three C-5s were lit up like Christmas trees and one exploded just as spectacularly as Brian's had. In the light of the two burning transports, the ISAF ace caught a glimpse of tiny figures carrying what looked like logs, sprinting for the other enemies that Wardog hadn't gotten around to killing yet.

'I'll bet those are…' A plume of fire and smoke erupted from one of the pairs of men and a burning flare climbed high into the night sky. 'Yep, rocket launchers.' The missile nosed over and dove, spearing through one of the tanks that had managed to make it through to the taxiways, turning it into a burning scrap pile. 'Javelins by the look of 'em.'

"Blaze to Wardog, the Guard has things handled here, let's give them some air cover."

"Roger!"

Four dark shapes climbed back into the sky and began circling the onrushing Osean ground forces. Forrest thought that it was kind of stupid to attack an airport with an Air National Guard base on it, but it also made sense. After all, who would question military planes parked on a military ramp? But that raised the question of who'd allowed them to sit there in the first place. Blaze smelled a rat, and he was going to be pretty highly placed if he had enough clout to get the base to allow unscheduled transports to sit there.

A call from tower cut him off. "Tower to Wardog! More contacts coming in! Same vector as before!"

Chopper cursed as the four-ship rolled out onto the appropriate heading. "Man, I can't believe this! This is the middle of fricking Osea! How the hell are they getting in?"

"I wish I knew," Edge replied grimly as she began to make preparations to launch an AMRAAM at the incoming contacts.

"Never mind that now," Blaze cut in. "We need to splash these guys before they make it to Apito. Otherwise we can kiss the Guardsmen good-bye." He couldn't tell them about his suspicions of a mole in the government because all transmissions during battle were recorded. If the mole or moles got word that he was onto them, Forrest would probably find himself with a one-way ticket to the ocean floor.

"You're right sir," Archer answered. "Archer, Fox Three!" A missile dropped from the belly of Grimm's Raptor and shot off into the darkness. A second or two passed and there was a flash off in the distance.

"Splash one Grimm!" Chopper crowed, even as he launched a missile himself. Edge and Blaze broke off and went higher up, in order to force the enemy to either get shot down, merge with them, or dive, in which case all four Wardog fighters would reverse and get on their tails. An explosion erupted a few miles out and quickly turned into a streak of fire and smoke that blotted out some of the lights of the city behind them. What made Blaze uneasy though was that there was only one explosion. That meant that one of the pair below them had missed.

"Careful Wardog," The ace warned. "There was only one explosion. That other one's around here somewhere." The tension that followed his statement was thick enough to cut with a knife. Every one of the four teammates was twisting in their seats, trying to see something that would point to where the enemy had gone.

"I'm spiked!" Grimm shouted as the warning alarm went off, alerting him that someone was thinking of shooting him down. Blaze wrenched around in his hard ejection seat and saw his comrade throwing his jet all over the sky in an attempt to break the lock the enemy had on him. Blaze was the closest to him.

"Edge, cover Chopper, I'm gonna go and help Grimm."

"Roger. Be careful sir."

"Always am." That was an outright lie. After all, he'd been the crazy son of a bitch who'd flown a speeding jet down the tunnel leading into Megalith's central missile silo not even knowing if he'd be able to get back out again in anything more than a body bag. "Hang in there Grimm, I'm coming."

Blaze didn't wait for a response, finding his teammate's location and hurling himself into a crushing turn that would take him to the area, then went into a zoom climb, going up to around six thousand feet and looked down. It would be impossible to spot Grimm from where the ace had been before. Now that he was above the action, the ace was able to see Archer quite clearly, the Senior Airman's jet clearly silhouetted against the dazzling city lights, and right behind him was the twisting shadow of the enemy pilot's jet.

"Right, I got him Grimm. Hang on and I'll be right there."

Forrest Split-S'ed and got in behind the enemy fighter who was locked tight on the young man's tail.

'This guy's good,' Blaze thought tightly, grunting against the g's as he kept the other pilot in front of him. The other pilot was managing to stay on Grimm's tail and keep the former ISAF ace at bay at the same time. Not many pilots could do that. The only ones Brian knew of were himself, the Mobius Squadron, and Yellow Squadron. Wardog would probably get there eventually, but the newer pilots were still a long way off, despite their knack for air combat. "Grimm! How you doin' buddy?"

"Hanging in there, sir!" came the forced reply. The cause was quite clear, seeing as his jet was standing on one wing and Forrest could see straight up the tailpipes from the thrust vectoring. "But a little speed would be appreciated!"

The enemy jinked and Blaze followed, straining against the crushing force of gravity. "Give me a minute. This guy's keeping ahead of me!" He reversed again, staying with the other fighter.

'This guy must be an ace' floated across Blaze's thoughts even as he concentrated on getting the gun pipper on target. 'I haven't had a battle like this since Farbanti and the Yellows.' He could still remember trying to get all the Yellows while keeping his own bacon in the sky. It had been five minutes of grunting and groaning, making loops and turns so fast that he'd been disoriented flying back to base. 'I need to spook this guy!' He got his pipper where he thought the cockpit for the fighter was and squeezed off a burst. Red hot rounds flashed across space and the enemy fighter wobbled a bit, as if realizing that there was someone behind him.

That crucial second cost the enemy dearly. Blaze's next burst slammed into his tail section and set the engines on fire, shrapnel ripping from the shredded engines and perforating the fuselage. Burning and barely controllable, the enemy dropped away and Forrest thought he saw something that set his teeth on edge.

On the port wing, there looked to be a band of yellow on the wingtip.

Grimm came up beside his flight lead and said something, but Blaze was too busy looking at the burning fighter to hear, trying to see through flame and thick oily smoke.

'Did I just see that?' He wondered. First a voice that he thought belonged to an ISAF pilot, and now this? 'Is it really a Yellow Squadron fighter, or am I imagining things?'

"BLAZE!" Chopper's voice made the other pilot jump, bringing him harshly back to reality.

"Wha?"

"You still alive in there? You won't answer us!"

"Y-yeah…I'm alright. Status?"

Edge was the one who answered. "We're all fine. The enemy's in retreat and the forces on the ground are being rounded up and taken to POW camps. I think we're done here."

Blaze was silent for a moment then shook himself and resumed his role as Captain of Wardog. "Roger. All right, good job guys. Let's get back on the ground and see what we're going to be doing from here."

"Yes sir!" Nagase answered for them all.

* * *

Two hours later and all four pilots were assembled in briefing room number 13 in the Pentagon, awaiting the verdict of their hearing, sortie and subsequent orders. The VP was gone, not surprising, seeing as he had other duties to attend to in the White House.

It was General Sutherland who was receiving them.

"Welcome back, Wardog," he greeted gruffly as the four pilots filed into the room, still in full flight gear, and took their seats across from him. "I'll say this for you guys, you can get the job done _damn_ fast!" He seemed a different man from before somehow, maybe it was his lack of a scowl and steely holier-than-thou gaze. "Thanks to you four, Apito suffered minimal damage and the Air Guard guys on duty were able to take out or disable the tanks."

"What about the enemy air forces?" Edge inquired. Sutherland's lip tugged in what might have been an attempt to smile.

"In full retreat, or at least what was left of them after you four got through with them."

Forrest spoke next. "And the attack on Bana sir? What about that?"

Now the general sighed heavily, seeming to age right before their eyes. "Well, I won't lie to you. The casualty count was heavy, there're close to one thousand dead and another two thousand who aren't expected to make it through the next forty-eight hours." The four aces exchanged horrified looks. "However, the good news is that we were able to spread an airborne neutralizer and managed to mute the casualties somewhat."

"Any idea on who did it?"

Here the general scowled. "Most of the intel we have on the situation points to either a Yuke special operations force or a Yuke extremist cell." He looked at them gravely. "I'm sure you guys know what this means?"

"Escalation," Grimm murmured. The word seemed to hang over the room like some dark fog as each person present absorbed what that meant. Osea would no longer be able to sit still after this. The troops would be ready to push to Cinigrad and raze it to the ground. The citizens would riot in the streets and demand harsher measures to be taken against the Yuke country as a whole. And deep penetration missions into Yuktobanian airspace would become commonplace.

"It's a little too…convenient," Blaze said softly to no one. "A Yuke Special Ops group in Osea? A Yuke terrorist cell? Either way it seems that someone's trying to pin it on Yuktobania!"

Sutherland chuckled. "You're in the wrong service Forrest," he said. "There is enough brass around here thinking the same way. They've started pushing for Congress and the White House to commission the NSA, FBI, CIA, all the three letter agencies to look into this and see if there isn't some other third party at work here." His gaze bored into each of them. "Now, about you four's hearing." The pilots sat forward on the edge of their seats. "Well, it was swinging towards conviction…" Their faces fell. "But, after seeing you four in action against the enemy, it swung the vote and you four are all cleared." Relieved looks and sighs passed all around.

"Now, regarding your orders," the gentle babble that had broken out at the news died almost immidiatly. "We want you four to return to Sand Island and continue to take the fight to the enemy. I must admit, I thought you four were a bunch of hotshots, but you really want to end the war. So, we're counting on you. Even as we speak, the forces on the front are gearing up for a blitzkrieg push that will take them straight to Cinigrad. So, get back to your base and start getting ready to take down Yuktobania!" He stood and saluted, an action which the other four mimicked.

* * *

"Wow," Chopper remarked once the four Raptors were in the air and had put an hour's worth of flight time behind them, "that General Sutherland turned out to all right after all, didn't he?"

"After what he put us through?" Grimm asked. "I'll bet he was just trying to get on our good side."

"Hey, look on the bright side," Blaze told them. "At least we weren't convicted!" He added silently, 'and at least I didn't have to go back to ISAF.'

"So what do we do now?" Edge asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Chopper answered before Blaze could. "Now we go back and listen to that fat commander of ours!"

"Great," Forrest muttered. "Just what I love to do. Get told what to do by a lazy member of the Chair Force." The other three laughed and continued on their flight back to Sand Island.

* * *

It was well past midnight when the Four Wings of Sand Island returned to their nest, and none other than Colonel Perrault was waiting for them on the ramp when the F-22s rolled to a stop and began to shut down. Blaze noticed and took his time, making sure to go over each step of shut down one at a time and back up each part of the list in excruciating detail, trying his best to delay getting out of the jet as long as he could. If it meant not dealing with Perrault, he would've slept upright in the ejection seat.

Finally there was no delaying the inevitable and his canopy came up, forcing the ace to get up and descend the ladder that Pops had put up when his engines began to spool down.

"Took you long enough, Lieutenant!" Perrault barked by way of greeting.

"Sorry, sir!" Blaze said in return, keeping his voice light. "It's just that flying a jet is a precise skill you know. You have to take your time and get it right." Perrault muttered something that was probably an insult, but was spared answering by the arrival of the rest of Wardog.

"Okay. Now you four will have an escort mission tomorrow in a few hours, so you better get some rest."

"What!?" Chopper and Edge shouted together.

"A mission!" Blaze repeated. "You can't be serious! We just got back from Oured! We're tired! We need a day off!" He trailed off for a moment then added a grudging "sir!"

Perrault's grin was visible even in the dark. "Too bad, Lieutenant. You guys are back, so it's time you got back into action. You had your day off in Oured." He turned and waddled away. "I'll see you in the briefing rooms in four hours."

"That bastard!" Chopper shouted as soon as the door to the offices had closed. "We just got back!"

"You're right, Chopper." Forrest said dangerously. "Screw this, I'm pulling us off that mission tomorr…today." He headed for the ops building. "You guys go and get some sleep. I'll pull us off the mission." The ace trudged into his room and flopped onto the lower bunk, burying his face in his pillow.

'They must be crazy, trying to send us on a mission like that.'

He'd glanced at the order out of curiosity and had shuddered at the request. Four F-22s taking out a hardened jungle facility that had man-pads hidden around the foliage? No thanks, find some other sucker. But to keep Perrault from riding them too hard, Blaze had put them on an escort mission to take out another supply depot the following day.

'That should calm him down somewhat.' He snorted against the fabric of his pillowcase. 'Yeah right.' His eyes dropped closed.

* * *

Not five minutes later, or it seemed that way at least, a fist was hammering on his door and Blaze's ears were abused by an enraged commander's voice.

"Forrest! Get you ass out here NOW!" The ace yawned widely, noticing with a glare that it was still dark outside. He went into the hall and looked down at Perrault, who looked like he was about to blow up.

"Yes sir?"

"Why the hell aren't you and your squadron in the damned _briefing room!?_" Farther down the hall, Chopper's door creaked open and the loud pilot stuck his head out into the hall, blinking blearily at the racket.

The Ace of Aces managed to stop a yawn from coming up. That would be a good way to get his butt transferred out. "I pulled us from the mission."

Whatever rant Perrault had ready died on his lips. "What did you say, Lieutenant?" He asked in a dangerous voice. It was clear to Forrest that he wanted the ace to round up Chopper and the rest and get down to the briefing room to get started on their mission.

"You heard me sir. I pulled us from the mission because the other members of Wardog and I are just too tired to fly today."

Perrault's tone promised bad things were coming Brian's way and coming fast. "You do not have the authority to do that, Lieutenant."

"Actually sir, you'll find that I do. See, the regulations say that the squadron commander, that would be me, can change his team's mission if the commander feels that his men are unfit to carry out the one they are assigned to. After coming back from Oured and a mission there, you'll find that we are indeed unfit for the one today. That's why we're on for the escort mission tomorrow." Perrault wanted to play the authority game? So be it. Blaze could play that game with the best of them, and beat them at it.

The Colonel looked about ready to light into him when Hamilton, who'd come with the base commander, tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. As the cold man spoke, all the steam seemed to leak out of Perrault until he was slumping on his feet. With a childish 'Hrumph,' he turned and stomped off down the hall.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Forrest," Hamilton said. "I would've pulled you off the mission myself if I'd known he'd put you on for that assault."

"Thank you Captain Hamilton," Blaze said with a salute.

Hamilton saluted back. "Good night, Lieutenant."

"Good night sir." The ace caught Chopper's eye and received a tired grin and a thumbs up from the younger pilot before his door closed and both men went back to sleep.

* * *

The next day was filled with Blaze and the members of Wardog pretty much just sleeping in and not having to worry about fighting a war. Once they were all up, the four pilots went to the break room and Chopper brought out a deck of cards and the pilots began having a fun time playing everything from Poker to Old Maid and then Forrest taught them a few from Usea, claiming that he learned them when he was a kid.

Finally the aces grew bored with constant card games so they headed over to the mainentance shop to talk with the crews that kept their planes up in the air.

Pops was busy fiddling with some component in Edge's F-22's engine, stopping and wiping greasy hands on a red rag which he draped over the open panel door that he'd been leaning under.

"Well well," the hiding ace said with a wide grin when he saw the four pilots sauntering towards him. "Back from Oured I see. So, don't keep an old man in suspense. How'd it go?"

Edge and Grimm filled the older pilot in while Chopper played Frisbee with Pops' dog Kirk.

Brian was over by his Raptor, looking at the flat gray-painted war machine and wondering about that fighter he'd shot down in Oured. Could it really have been a Yellow, or was he imagining things? Somehow, the former Mobius 1 didn't want to believe that his old rival squadron had found him. He'd seen reports in the years preceding Operation Katina that hinted at possible attempts on his life by disgruntled members of Yellow Squadron. They hadn't bothered him too much then because aside from Yellow 13's group of five, the rest of them were pushovers, especially the ones who'd been guarding Megalith. Blaze and the revived Mobius Squadron had torn the green pilots to shreds. Hell, according to intercepted comms, Forrest himself had shot down the squadron leader in the opening exchange of fire.

"Reliving the old days?" Pops' voice asked from behind him. Blaze turned around and saw the old pilot looking at him with a fatherly smile.

"Sort of."

The mechanic's gaze sharpened. "You're brooding on something. What's going on?"

Pops listened without interruption as the other ace explained and then was silent for a minute before answering. "You're sure that you saw yellow on the other fighter?"

"Not enough to bet my life on it, but the guy was good enough to hold me off and go after Grimm at the same time. If I hadn't spooked him with the cannon, he would've bagged Archer."

"You're right when you say there aren't too many pilots out there who can do that. Especially against someone of your caliber." It wasn't a compliment or praise. Both of the hiding aces knew that Brian Forrest was the best, with the possible exception of the Demon Lord. "Were you able to get gun camera footage?"

"Probably not enough to make a real argument."

Pops looked sideways at the younger man. "If you're right, this would led credit to that voice you heard over the radio during that intercept mission."

"Still, it doesn't explain why Mobius _and_ Yellow Squadrons are here in Osea." The ISAF ace looked at his counterpart and confidant. "Any ideas?"

Pops shook his head. "Not a one."

All too soon, the day had passed and the four assembled once more in the briefing room for their latest mission. Perrault stood and, throwing a brief glare Blaze's way, got the briefing underway.

"Okay, now that you four are back from Oured, it's time we got this underway. That's all I have to say to you people right now."

The Intel officer stepped up, clearing his throat. "Now, your mission today will be to escort a squadron of B-2 Spirit bombers on their way to strike at an arms factory in Yuke territory. The reason you've been asked for specifically is because the enemy facility is fortified by an Early Warning Radar Network that provides sufficient protection for the enemy up to about one hundred miles out, therefore, it stands to reason that the only aircraft that would be able to make it into the target area would be aircraft with stealth capabilities."

"Sir," Edge said with a puzzled tone. "We aren't going to be garunteed a completely invisible entrance. Even a stealth aircraft gives off a radar crossection, no matter how small. There is a chance that we'll be detected."

The officer nodded. "Yes, we are aware of that, Lieutenant Nagase, however, there is another strike package being launched to attack a suspected submarine pen that's under construction. Their route lies in a close proximity to yours, so the two packages are going to launch at the same time and…"

Blaze caught on. "I get it now, the other package will be diverting their attention away from us!"

The other officer nodded. "That's correct. That mission is being given extra fighter escorts to help deal with any interceptors that may come after them because your target has it's own functioning airport." He clicked the remote in his hand and the sit-rep map changed to a satellite picture of their target. "The bombers will be going after the manufacturing facilities and storage areas. Wardog is to intercept and shoot down any fighters that try to get the B-2s and also stop any transports that try to flee the area. Any questions."

As usual there were none.

"Good. Now go get ready and get in the air. The B-2 force will overfly Sand Island on their way to the target so all you guys have to do is launch and you'll be good."

"Yes sir."

"Alright then. Col. Perrault?"

"Just get out there and give those dirty Yukes a rough time. If you are innocent, then prove it in combat."

Not dignifying the corpulent man with a response, the four aces left and got ready to go. The only thing interesting that happened on the way to the Ready Room was Chopper giving the briefing room door the finger.

* * *

And there is Chapter 11. Sorry it took so long, but I've been having a rough time at school and didn't have much time for writing. It doesn't help that the end of the semester is coming up fast and (college kids look away) finals are just around the corner. Uh...Wow. I think that's it. Read and review as always.

**Glossary:**

**Radar Crossection:** How obvious an aircraft is on radar. Stealth aircraft generally show up as being the size of a ball bearing or bumblebee. Normal aircraft range anywhere from the size of a school bus to a barn. And yes, stealths can be seen on radar, just not very easily.

**Javelin: **It's pretty much the replacement for the LAW (Light Anti-tank Weapon). Self-guided, range of about a mile, and easy to reload. Like everything in the military these days, it's pretty much point and shoot. Nasty little bastard can put a missile straight through tank armor.

**B-2 Spirit:** The Stealth Bomber. Not to be confused with the F-117 Nighthawk. It was developed by Jack Northrop's company. Mr. Northrop's design was so advanced that it had to wait for technology to catch up with it. Rumors state that when the aging Northrop was shown the first B-2, the culmination of his dream, he got tears in his eyes and said, "Now I know why God has let me live as long as he has." One was lost a few weeks ago in Guam, and another was damaged beyond repair when something in the landing gear broke and the frame was damaged. I think that one is now on display at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton Ohio.

**Chair Force: **Deragatory term for the Air Force. Similar to calling a Marine a Jarhead, a soldier a ground pounder and a sailor a swabbie. (sp)


	12. They're back!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Last time: The team gets a day off, and Forrest talks with Pops about what happened in Oured.

This time: Something happens during The Four Horsemen that puts Blaze on alert.

* * *

"Man, I can't believe this! Now they've got us right back on the front lines again!" Chopper fumed, indignant about the team's luck. Slowly but surely, Forrest's predictions about the brass running them into the ground were starting to come to pass. Even the little 'vacation' they'd had to Oured for the hearing didn't really relax them because of the stress and because of the damned hearing.

Blaze spoke up to get his irate teammate back under control, "Can the chatter, Chopper. Let's have a sterile comm. on the ramp, huh?"

"Yes sir." The younger pilot's reply was sullen and clearly said to Blaze that he wouldn't be silent for long. Davenport just liked to talk too much, and one of these days it would get him into trouble, either with Blaze himself, or Thunderhead, which in turn would lead to a confrontation with Colonel Perrault, and somehow Brian got the feeling that the encounter _wouldn't _be pretty.

The Tower decided to cut in right then. "Wardog, this is Sand Island Tower. The B-2 strike force is about five minutes out. You guys might want to launch so you can rendezvous with them and get moving."

"Roger," Blaze answered, becoming the strong leader once again. "I take it we're cleared to go then?"

"That's affirmative. See you guys when you get back." Blaze frowned at the parting sentiment as he brought his F-22 onto the active runway and applied full power, hurtling down the long stretch of pavement in seconds. The Tower seemed to think that they would all make it back in once piece. That couldn't be more wrong. Sure, Wardog was a group of rather gifted pilots, including _the_ Mobius 1 himself, but that certainly didn't guarantee a safe return. You could be the greatest pilot in the world and still get shot down in a heartbeat if an AA gunner got lucky or you didn't see that second wave of SAMs.

It had almost happened to him on many occasions…

_First Lieutenant Brian Forrest of the ISAF flew low over the waters of the dark bay, hurtling past low mountains and other obstructions at speeds exceeding the speed of sound. Mobius 1 was today participating in a raid on the Erusians' biggest oil supply and the Aegir Fleet's lifeline. Without this factory/refinery, they could stop the fleet before it even got out of Comberth Harbor to go attack North Point._

_The raid had gone off smoothly and the strike force had done major damage to its target. However, just as the ISAF planes were savoring the taste of victory, it had turned sour faster than one could blink._

_Sky Eye had gotten on the comm. and said that the Yellow Squadron was inbound on them. Yellow Squadron. The Erusian equivalent of the Mobius Squadron. They were feared and hated by most pilots in the Air Force, and for good reason. Their leader, Yellow Thirteen, had bagged close to sixty-seven kills in the early days of the war. Brian wouldn't be surprised if his kill count was up over one hundred now._

_Forrest grunted and swore more viciously than a certain hotshot nugget he would meet later in life and threw his Phantom into a high-g turn, hearing the airframe creak as he tried to make it do something it wasn't supposed to be doing. The sheer clifface was now hurtling past his canopy instead of straight at him. That was close. If he'd been just a second slower…_

"BLAZE!" Edge's shout jolted him back to the present and he looked around for the enemy before realizing that he was in Osean territory and settled back down.

"Y-yeah?" He asked, slightly shaken. These little forays into his memories really had to stop. One of these days he would get himself killed.

"The B-2s are asking if you're ready to go," the pilot of Wardog 2 sighed softly. Really, her Captain could space out at the weirdest times. It was like he was reliving some past that had a powerful hold over him. Edge still thought that something was strange with her Captain, and this proved it, at least to her mind. Aunt Keiko had told her to just forget about it, but the truth was, the fighter pilot just _couldn't_ forget. Something deep inside her, call it a woman's intuition if you wanted, but _something_ was off about Brian Forrest and she intended to find out what.

"Yeah, Kid," Chopper added, not about to miss the opportunity to tease his friend. "What's that you're always saying about keeping our mind on the mission?"

The B-2 flight cut in before the lead F-22's pilot could retort, "Wardog Squadron, this is Raven Flight, are you guys ready to go or are you going to argue?" The pilot sounded snippy, but that wasn't a surprise. B-2 crews were notorious for their long-range missions. With all the Spirit fleet based out of one field in central Osea, they had to fly missions that were sometimes more than two days in length. A tired pilot was a cranky pilot after all.

"Sorry Raven," Blaze apologized. "I just kinda got lost in though. It won't happen again."

The Spirit pilot snorted. "Whatever, just as long as you four keep our asses safe!"

Forrest's voice gave no hint that he was offended by the bomber's rudeness. The former ISAF pilot could almost feel Chopper getting ready to light into the sullen pilot and tear him a new one. "Right, well, let's go."

Clicks came back and the four B-2s headed off over the ocean, arranging themselves into a diamond formation. The four Raptors, on the other hand, arranged themselves in their typical 'fingertip' formation, the standard for combat pilots because it allowed the two elements to split almost immidiatly should they come under attack.

* * *

Four hours and an air-to-air refueling later, the eight war birds closed in on their target. The Yuktobanian coast had slipped by them some time before and the front had looked horrendous. There were bomb craters and blasted out buildings, corpses that had yet to be buried or consumed by the vultures. Twin cities of tents sat some five miles apart, the lodgings for soldiers as the Yukes tried desperately to drive the Oseans back and the Oseans who just kept relentlessly pushing on towards Cinigrad. Blaze had a feeling that this war would either bog down and come to a stalemate, or the Oseans would do what the ISAF had done and push all the way to the capital. After the destruction of Stonehenge at Forrest's hands, the Erusians had fallen back fairly quick and the ISAF were flying over Farbanti in less than ten months' time.

Unfortunately, that same scenario hadn't unfolded here in Osea. The destruction of the Scinfaxi hadn't slowed down the Yuke war machine at all. True they hadn't tried to invade again, but that was because the Osean forces hadn't given them the chance. With the unexpected invasion of the mainland, Osea had surprise on its side and they'd pushed pretty far inland. Now the Yukes were starting to rally and regroup, putting up some kind of defense and significantly slowing their enemy's progress. In Erusia's case, once Stonehenge had fallen, the ISAF had been given back their ability to use air power and the collectively more skilled Allies had decimated the Erusian air force until it was a shadow of a former self.

"Raven 1 to Wardog 1, we're approaching the target area. You guys ready?"

Blaze shook himself out of his thoughts and responded. "Roger that. We'll stay here and wait for you guys to scare them up to us."

There was a series of clicks over the radio and the B-2s began to pull ahead.

"OK Wardog, we're gonna hold here and wait for the C-5s to come to us, spread out and get ready."

"Roger."

The flight split and started orbiting as the dark wings of the Spirits went on ahead and dark spots began raining from the bellies of the bombers. Lines of explosions began blossoming on the ground below. Blaze could see the AA come to life, but it was too later. The B-2s were already on the way out, turning to head back to base.

"HEY! I'm spiked! Where the hell's it coming from! Wardog you see…." The transmission was cut off in a burst of static. The reason was easy to see. The lead B-2 blew up, turning into just so much scrap and shrapnel.

Blaze hit the comm., feeling his blood run cold. "Shit! Thunderhead, Raven 1's gone! Something's going on here! Wardog, you guys see any chutes?"

"Negative Blaze," Edge said grimly. "I don't see anyone."

"Wardog 3 has a visual!" There was excitement and relief was clear in Chopper's voice. "One parachute on the other side of the explosion!"

Even as he acknowledged, Blaze couldn't help but be sad. 'Only one? So that means the other guy didn't make it.'

"Raven 2, Wardog 1. You better get your guys out of here. We can't afford any more casualties. RTB now and get clear of the combat area, Wardog will provide cover." The second B-2 didn't waste any time in banking his bomber as far as he could and turned.

The second B-2 exploded.

"DAMN! Thunderhead, where the hell are they!?"

The AWACS was quick to respond. "The hostiles are about four miles out and closing fast."

"Four miles. That's inside the range of an AIM-9. These bastards are taking heater shots at us! Wardog, form up and intercept!" The four F-22s linked up and began speeding for the targets. True, it could've been luck, but to hit two stealth aircraft with Sidewinders? That wasn't luck. Either the Yuktobanian heat tracking technology was better than expected, or these pilots knew what they were doing. As the mission at the Comona Islands in ISAF had shown, a good pilot could shoot down a stealth with no problem.

Soon, five shapes came into view as the two formations closed at combined speeds passing Mach 1. Forrest felt his blood chill again. Ever since tangling with the Yellows, he always got a foreboding sense whenever he saw a five-ship.

"Alright, Wardog, weapons free. Everyone pick a target and start shooting!" Even as he spoke, the ISAF pilot was targeting and locking up the lead plane. He got a good tone from his Sidewinder and pushed the button. "Blaze, Fox Two!"

The missile burned across space and then the lead Yuke did something surprising. He pulled straight up, pointing the nose skyward and pulled back on the throttle. The fighter stalled and fell, the missile, unable to counter the sudden direction change shot past and hurtled harmlessly out into space.

'SHIT! I know that move!' Brian shouted at himself. It was Yellow Thirteen's signature move. The ace had lost track of the number of times the Erusian ace had pulled that maneuver and forced him to overshoot. At least the move had one big limit, and that was that Yellow Thirteen had to build up speed before he could make a return shot. 'I'm sorry, guys,' he apologized to his teammates, 'but you guys aren't ready to tangle with someone who can use Yellow Squadron's moves like this.'

Five-ship, that maneuver, the skill to shoot down a B-2 at long range, oh yeah, these guys were either trained by former Yellows or were former Yellows themselves. The scenario was entirely possible. ISAF intelligence after Operation Katina pointed to many of the Erusian aces heading overseas. It was time to get out of here.

"Wardog, belay that. We're leaving. The mission's been partially successful. The bombers managed to get their payloads on target. We've done enough. Time to get out of Dodge."

Predictably, Chopper was livid. "What!? You've got to be kidding! We can take 'em!"

"NO!" Blaze's shout brought all the others up short. He almost never shouted unless he was _really _mad or nervous about something. These fighter pilots were good if they could make the best ace the younger pilots had ever seen turn tail and run. "You don't stand a chance. No one does, not unless you're as good as Mobius 1. Thunderhead, give us ECM, we're getting out."

"Roger, ECM active. Cleared to pull out Wardog." Without replying, Blaze heeled his fighter around and lit the burners, punching his fighter through Mach 1 and well on its way to Mach 2, the others lagging, but quickly catching up and pulling level. The Yellows, or Yellow trainees, didn't give pursuit, also heeling around and bugging out.

"Blaze?" Edge's voice was soft and tentative. "What was that? It was almost like you panicked."

"I did. Those guys were just too good for yo…us. We would've been torn apart at the seams. Did you see the way they dodged my Sidewinder?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I'm talking about. I've only seen pictures, but the Yellow Squadron's flight lead was famous for doing a maneuver like that. I saw an interview with Mobius 1 on the internet and he said that that move pissed him off a lot."

"Wait, back up. Are you saying that those guys are on the level of Mobius 1?" Grimm asked, shock clear in his voice.

"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Chopper whistled. "Damn, maybe it's a good thing we left. Those guys would've killed us!"

'You have no idea, Chopper,' Blaze thought as he remembered the crushing g's and pounding adrenalin from his last engagement with the infamous Yellow Squadron. It had taken every ounce of skill he'd had as a pilot just to kill the leader. Wardog, as it was now, stood no chance of killing them. Even Forrest was unsure of his ability now. True he'd done it before, but that was years ago and he hadn't been forced to fly to his limit since. If he wasn't absolutely sure that he'd be able to splash the Yellows again, he'd run as long as he had to in order to get that skill back.

* * *

"What happened back there?" The boom operator's voice was puzzled. Wardog was over the ocean, on their way back to Sand Island. "You guys are way ahead of schedule and Raven Flight was here about an hour ago. Looked to me like they were missing two of the flight."

"We ran into some stiff opposition. Raven 1 and 2 were shot down."

"Shot down?" The amazement in the operator's voice was clear. "How?"

"Some bastard got lucky," Chopper groused. He could see his flight lead's logic in running, but he still wasn't happy with it. There was a tense silence for the rest of the refueling trip as everyone on the frequency contemplated what'd happened.

* * *

Finally, the base on Sand Island came into view and the four jets arced for the runway, touching down with puffs of burned rubber as the wheels hit with high pitched screeches. Once off the runway, the four taxied up to their usual spots and shut down. Pops came running out as soon as he heard the engines roar down the runway.

He was at Blaze's side the moment the canopy opened. "What happened? You guys aren't supposed to be back for another hour!"

The aging mechanic stopped at the look it Blaze's eyes. Fear. The pilot was _scared_. The Mobius 1 was scared. His voice, though was calm. "We need to talk."

Pops nodded and followed the pilot into the hangar after he unstrapped. "Blaze, what happened out there?"

Forrest sighed. "I ran into some old friends."

"Huh?"

Pops found the pilot's blue eyes boring into his. "Yellow Squadron's here."

"Yellows? Wait, you don't mean…"

The former Mobius 1 nodded, confirming the other ace's fears. "Yeah, that Yellow Squadron."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. It's either the Yellows or someone who's been trained by them."

"How do you know?"

Blaze sighed, seeming to age right before Pops' eyes. "Trust me. One of them used a move that I've seen in my nightmares ever since the war ended." He scowled. "I'd know it anywhere."

"But why are they here?"

"That I don't know."

"So why didn't you engage?"

Blaze ran a hand through his brown hair. "Wardog would've been slaughtered. Edge, Chopper and Archer just aren't good enough right now. Hell, I don't know if _I _could still handle them." There was silence after that. Pops didn't need to ask _why_ Blaze thought he couldn't handle the Yellows anymore. It'd been five years since he'd flown in a war. That was more than enough time for one's combat edge to atrophy and become dull. Forrest was quickly regaining that edge, but it would need a few more missions. "Still, the mission was partially successful. The plant was severely damaged, so it shouldn't be helping out the Yukes for a while."

"That's good. At least you managed to get something done."

"Yeah, but now the problem is what we're going to do if they come back."

Pops was saved from answering because at that moment, an officer that was stationed in the tower came up to the pair.

"Lieutenant Forrest?"

"Yeah?"

"Sir, could you come with me? Thunderhead wants to talk to you."

"Sure, lead the way." With a nod to the mechanic, Blaze left with the controller, wondering just what was going on here. A quick elevator ride later, and the ISAF pilot was standing in the nerve center for all of Sand Island's aerial operations. "Now, what does Thunderhead want?"

"Dunno. He just said to get you and bring you to a place that had a radio."

"Alright. Give me a headset and let's see what he wants." The controller nodded and handed Blaze a pair of bright sea-green headphones. The ace had to laugh. He hadn't used these since he'd earned his Private Pilot's Certificate back in high school. "Thunderhead this is Blaze. What's going on?"

There was a peal of static then the voice of the AWACS came through. "Blaze, we intercepted a transmission from the other squadron as they were departing the area. I can't make heads or tails of it, but maybe you might."

"A transmission?" Privately, Forrest wondered just what the transmissions could be about. "Well, let's hear it."

"Roger, standby…" The other man trailed off and then a garbled transmission came through.

"Not…him…damn…"

There was a squeal that made Blaze want to rip off the phones, but he kept them on. A second voice came through. "We're on…goose chase…Rib…wouldn't…run…that."

Blaze sat up a bit straighter in his chair. Rib? As in a Ribbon? The transmission cleared up right then. "Don't worry. He's here somewhere and soon it'll be time for a ribbon cutting ceremony." The message ended and Forrest was vaguely aware of Thunderhead speaking and he managed to wrench himself out of his thoughts just in time to catch the AWACS asking if he knew what it meant.

"No, I don't have a clue, Thunderhead. You should probably get this to the Intel guys, I'm sure they could make some sense out of it." The controller acknowledged and then signed off. The Ace of Aces stood and walked out, lost in his own world.

So, the Yellow Squadron _was_ in Osea and they were looking for him. They knew he was here too, because the squadron wouldn't have had a reason to fly in from Erusia anyway. But that still left the question of _how_ they'd found out about him. Brian stopped walking and looked over the ocean. He smiled sadly. It looked like it was time to do some training with Wardog, both to regain his old edge and to help the other three get ready to tangle with some of the best aces the world had to offer.

* * *

"So, why are we doing this again?" Chopper asked the next day as the four stood in front of their Raptors, Blaze with his back to the group as he checked the intake for the left engine and the panels in the nose section.

"I explained it yesterday, Chopper," Forrest replied as he squatted to check the nosegear. "Yesterday showed me that we have a _long_ way to go if we wanna live through the war. A little practice against each other never hurt anyone."

"But we could be resting," the hyper pilot whined.

Edge broke in, "Well, Blaze does have a point. We _could_ use some more practice."

Blaze stood with a grin. "My thought exactly. So suit up and get ready to go, we're gonna have a little fun."

Soon the four F-22s were idling on the tarmac before getting clearance to head for the runway. A few minutes passed and two gray shapes climbed into the sky, followed three minutes later by two more.

"Okay Kid," Chopper said after some time had passed and the three were a few miles out to sea and away from the base, cruising at around twenty thousand feet. "So how are we going to do this?"

"It's easy. The four of us are just going to dogfight in different numbers, you know, 1v1, 2v1, 2v2, whatever we feel like really."

"Okay then. How about you and me go one-on-one to start things off?"

Blaze shrugged. "Sure, I don't have a problem with that." Edge and Grimm pulled away and formed on each other to do their own engagement while Chopper pulled a tad closer to his flight lead.

Forrest got the party started. "Three…Two…One, Fight's On!" Both pilots broke hard into high-g turns, Blaze going left, Chopper going right. Both pilots had a quick moment of 'What the hell!?' before the former ISAF pilot reversed, reacting a split second faster than Chopper did, getting his 22 on the loud pilot's six.

"Shit." Chopper cursed before throwing his jet into a Split-S, trying to shake his lead off his tail. Blaze followed, making his pullout steeper than his wingman's in an effort to get the pipper on target and end the mock dogfight. Chopper wasn't stupid though, and broke into a turn, forcing Blaze to follow, even though he'd entered a slight climb and lost a couple knots of airspeed.

"Not…bad," Blaze grunted over the radio as he and the louder pilot went screaming around the sky in high-g turns. The Ace of Ace's airspeed dropped below maneuvering speed and the former Mobius 1 rammed his throttle into full afterburner in an effort to stop the loss. It worked and now he was tight on the other's tail as both of them reversed nose low in an effort to speed up and get back into the airspeed range for max g, called max performing in the pilot's world.

Chopper abruptly wrenched his Raptor around, turning into Blaze and surprising the pilot a little, but he reacted instinctively, pulling hard back and blasting skyward. Chopper looked around, caught off guard by his lead's sudden departure into the vertical. Now the younger pilot was in a bad situation, because he'd lost sight of the enemy, and there was a saying that fighter jocks had concerning this situation.

"Lose sight lose the fight."

Now Blaze could surprise him, and that would probably be with…

"Guns, guns, guns."

Chopper cursed at his friend's call and twisted in his seat, craning his neck to see around the headrest. Sure enough, the narrow shape of Blaze's Raptor was sitting there, in his blind spot, within range for the 20mm cannon to turn his jet from a magnificent and deadly weapons platform into a twisted scrap heap. "Knock it off," Chopper answered, the phrase being the traditional method for acknowledging defeat. The other F-22 rocked its wings and pulled up beside him.

"Not bad Chopper, but we still need to work on it."

"Yeah." The other pilot's reply was sullen, but maybe that was from a bruised ego. After all, pilots were known for it.

The two climbed back up to altitude and met up with Edge and Grimm before pairing off again.

On it went, mock dogfights playing out in the sky near Sand Island all day. They did everything, including a tough three-on-one with Chopper, Edge and Archer all against Blaze. The ISAF pilot had been hard-pressed to win, and in the end, he'd been 'shot down' by Edge after she came out of the sun from a higher altitude, but not before he'd managed to splash both Grimm and Chopper.

A few days passed with no real missions, aside from a few CAP patrols a couple miles away from Sand Island, just to ensure that the airspace over the base remained clear, along with a couple more mock dogfights. Forrest really couldn't see Perrault's logic. Doing patrols like this was kinda dumb because the Osean forces across the pond had achieved and maintained air superiority, effectively preventing any incursions by the Yukes into Osean territory.

Though the four pilots were beginning to get bored, they were glad for the respite, even if it only was for a day or two. Finally, there was a knock on Blaze's door in the wee hours of the morning. A bleary-eyed ace opened the door and blinked at Captain Hamilton.

"Sir?"

"Get ready, Forrest. It's time for your next mission."

Brian nodded and vanished as he pulled on a flight suit and prepared to head for the briefing room. There was surprise waiting for them when the four arrived. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, but the briefing room was as dead as a cemetery.

One hour passed. Then two. Edge had whipped out a book and was writing in it. Forrest thought that she was writing in a diary, but it turned out that it was about some demon of legend from way back when.

"The Legend of Razgriz?" Blaze asked, reading the embossed gold lettering on the front of the leather-bound book. "What's that?"

Edge looked at him funny. "You've never heard the legend?"

"Nope. I'm from ISAF remember? We didn't exactly tell stories like that in Commonwealth."

Edge smiled. "Well, it's time for a lesson then. When history witnesses a great change, Razgriz appears. As a demon, it uses its power to rain death upon the land, and then it dies. Then, after a period of slumber, Razgriz returns…" That was as far as Edge was able to get, because Perrault and another man, this one a total stranger, entered the room.

The pudgy officer only got as far as greeting them before the stranger cut them off. "Colonel, excuse me, but as the advisor from HQ, I'd like to explain the situation to these guys myself." Perrault looked taken aback, but nodded and sat down. The lights dimmed and the sit-rep map changed, showing a place that was most certainly _not_ in Yuktobania or Osea. "This is a satellite picture of the Razgriz Straits, a channel in the far north that lies just below the Arctic Circle. It was taken about three days ago by one of our spy birds, and the analysts noticed this." He hit a button on the clicker he was holding and the picture zoomed in on a dark shape. The shape looked like a lawn dart and all four pilots leaned in, having seen that shape in their dreams for weeks after the invasion of Sand Island.

Archer said what all four of the Wardog members were thinking. "Oh, shit."

The advisor nodded. "Yes, oh shit is right. We have confirmed this vessel to be a second Scinfaxi-class attack submarine that the Yukes have managed to keep under wraps for an unknown amount of time. Intercepted communications from the enemy and our own spies in Cinigrad have confirmed the name of this new sub to be Hrimfaxi. She's been stationed in the straits and has been holed up there for quite some time, most likely since the failed invasion and the sinking of Scinfaxi. We've tried to go after her with our own submarines, but the vessel is well protected by a ring of picket subs."

White squares began blinking in a ring around a large triangle that had appeared on the map.

"That leaves our only option being an attack from the air. You four have been selected since you are the ones who sank Scinfaxi, thus you have the most experience with the capabilities of this vessel." He surveyed them with a severe expression. "I'm sure you're all aware of the massive push into Yuke territory that we're planning?"

The Four Wings of Sand Island nodded.

"Good. Now, the Hrimfaxi has been shown to need occasional resupply. It happens on a fairly regular basis, and the next supply mission is supposed to happen on, coincidentally, at the exact zero hour of our attack. There's a good chance that Hrimfaxi will open fire when our attack launches, so your job is to sink Hrimfaxi and minimize our troop casualties on the front lines. Any questions?"

There were none. It was a straightforward mission. With a nod, the advisor and Perrault dismissed the four pilots and left them to their preparations for the upcoming task. Blaze sighed as he and his wingmen ran down the halls. He'd come to Osea to avoid becoming a legend, not start a new one.

Oh well. Nothing he could do about it, so he turned his brainpower to figuring out how to attack a submarine with planes that couldn't carry Harpoon missiles or torpedoes.

Well, now you know for sure that Yellow Squadron is in Osea, and that they're after Forrest. WHY they're there is a topic for another chapter though. I'd like to thank NeoSpearBlade for giving me the idea for the transmission that was intercepted by Thunderhead there at the end of the mission.

**Glossary**

**Max Performing:** As the name implies, it's flying your jet to the max. A major asset in dogfighting. An example is the max performance for the F-16 Viper/Fighting Falcon. (Viper is the name given to the Falcon by its pilots. Sounds less gay than the official name). Its max performance is 330-430 kts at 9 g's. Anything above or below that and you aren't flying to your max. Especially useful in a close-in guns dogfight.


	13. That Sinking Feeling The Sequel!

Disclaimer: Own nothing, Know nothing.

Last time: Wardog prepares for a strike against the Hrimfaxi.

This time: The strike against Hrimfaxi.

* * *

"So Kid, how're you going to tackle the Hrimfaxi if the Raptor can't carry any antisub weapons?" Pops asked as the ace did a preflight of his fighter. Blaze didn't spare him a glance back as he continued to make sure his aircraft was war-ready.

"You should know what my plan is, Pops," he answered ducking under the wing and giving the Sidewinder strapped into the side bay a firm couple of tugs to make sure the missile was firmly attached, shining a small flashlight he'd procured from a pocket around the inside of the bay, making sure there were no irregularities.

The elder ace sighed. "Yeah, I know what your plan is, you told me when I asked what loadout you wanted…but I think that this plan is a piece of shit!"

Forrest sighed now as he checked the main gear and slid under the open ventral bay to check the two two-thousand-pound JDAMs slung there. "You see any other way?" the ace asked with a grunt as he wriggled out from under the jet. "Because I don't." He stood and dusted off his olive-drab flight suit. His piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into Pops. "If you have another plan, I'm more than happy to listen, trust me."

The Raven regarded the pilot in front of him. Blaze was six feet tall, maybe six one, a solid one hundred seventy pounds, somewhat pale, rather ordinary looking, but not ugly, with straight and fair brown hair, so dark it was almost black, and with ice-blue eyes that seemed to change shade depending on what mood he was in. Sometimes they were light, like when he was hanging out in the Hangar or O'Club, and joking with mechanics and pilots, or other times they were dark and serious, like when he got ready to fly. Forrest's eyes were what struck Pops the most. The mechanic wasn't gay or anything, but you couldn't help but notice the young man's eyes when you looked at him.

Maybe it was because people blue eyes with brown hair were uncommon, but they stood out. Finally Pops spoke. "Look, your plan is one method of attack, but couldn't you call up one of the Navy guys and get a Viking or an Orion to help?"

Blaze scratched his head. "Yeah, I could, but the thing is, I don't think one of those has a decent enough performance to get above five thousand in a hurry if Hrimfaxi launches one of those damned burst missiles at us."

"But having sonobuoys in the water is better than having nothing! One of those could tell you where the thing is at if you don't sink it the first time through, even if the aircraft itself doesn't participate in the attack!"

The former Mobius 1 smirked, a surprisingly arrogant expression for a usually mellow pilot. "With any luck, we won't have to make a second run." He scaled the roll away ladder that led to his cockpit and vaulted inside, like a hot rodder jumping into his 'Vette. It was the usual method for entering a cockpit, at least among Viper and Raptor pilots, who considered themselves the best of the best.

"That's the other thing," Pops added as he followed with the pilot's helmet. He handed the protective headgear to the ace, who promptly pulled it on and snapped his oxygen mask to it. "So much of this rides on luck. What're you going to do if you _don't_ sink it on the first run?"

"Does it?" Blaze countered as he began flicking switches. "We're attacking when the Hrimfaxi is on the surface. It should be alright."

Pops lowered his voice, so the other three wouldn't hear. "Do you know the risk this poses to your squadron? What if they get shot down?" He leaned in closer under the pretense of checking Blaze's straps. "What if they _die_ from a burst missile?"

A tenseness came over the ace, and Pops wondered if the pilot hadn't thought about it. He shook that thought off almost immidiatly. Of course Blaze had considered it, if he hadn't, he wouldn't be fit to be a flight lead.

"Of course I've thought about it. And the thought that one of us may not make it back is always on my mind, but," He looked at the Raven, a small grin on his face, "if I didn't have total faith that they could pull this off, I wouldn't be doing this mission this way." He continued with his before start checks. "Look, Pops, you've only seen them as student pilots, and I know you know how much better they've gotten, but trust me, you have no idea. Give them another few months and I'd have no problem inducting them into Mobius Squadron if we were in ISAF."

The mechanic sighed, knowing there was no way to dissuade the pilot from his seemingly suicidal method of sinking the Hrimfaxi. Blaze's plan was audacious, and could succeed, but at the same time, it left a number of variables up to luck. The plan, according to the former Ribbon, was to come in low, under radio silence, and hope to catch the ballistic attack sub off guard as it took on supplies and, supposedly, more burst missiles. Following a hopefully undetected penetration of the picket sub ring, the four fighters were to arm and prep their JDAMs for firing. Once in range, they would use the toss-bomb method of delivery to send the bombs in an arc to impact, and hopefully punch through, the deck of the Hrimfaxi and cause fatal damage to the interior.

When Blaze had explained his plan to the elder pilot, Pops hadn't been able to believe it, hounding Forrest about it from suit up to preflight, trying to convince the younger man to change his method. The ace had argued back by saying it was their best plan because Arkbird wouldn't be able to supply the laser in order expose the engine room to Wardog's heaters, and that he'd thoroughly explained it to his team members and they were in agreement that it was indeed their best bet. That was Blaze's second argument. If his team was all for it, why not give it a shot?

Brian could see that Pops' worries were far from assuaged. "Don't worry Pops," he said with a confident smile. "We'll be fine. I went after Megalith with less of a plan."

The balding mechanic shook his head. "Yeah, but you had a ground team _and_ an entire wing to back you up. What do you have now? No ground team, and three pilots who have less experience than you do."

Blaze reached for the switch to close the canopy. "I know that. But I trust Wardog with my life, the same way I trusted Mobius. We'll be fine." Pops still didn't look convinced. Forrest shook his head. "Jeeze, you're worse than my mother. Okay, how about this? I'll buy you a couple rounds at the O'Club when we get back and we're partying about sinking Hrimfaxi."

Pops nodded, knowing it was a promise Forrest would keep. "Sure thing, Lieutenant. I'll hold you to that."

The ISAF ace nodded solemnly. "Right. See you tonight, Pops." Then the canopy came down and sealed, cutting off all further conversation. The mechanic retreated a couple of paces and then he heard the jet fuel starter come to life, increasing its whine before a deep roar drowned it out as the left engine caught and turned over. The right engine followed soon after and the F-22s lights came to life, lighting up the chill pre-dawn darkness that hung over Sand Island, the red beacon lights flashing, then the strobes pierced the darkness, blinding the Belkan ace every time they flickered. The lights began moving and then Pops found himself getting hit by a blast of heat and a heavy smell of kerosene as Forrest's jet heeled right and headed for the runway.

Archer, Chopper, and Edge followed and the darkness was silent, except for a faint whine farther down the ramp as the four hit the hold short area. Pops turned to go back into the hangar, then his ears were hit by a deep-throated roar, and he looked up, seeing four flames and two sets of lights, as Blaze and Edge passed overhead before turning out over the sea and heading for Razgriz Straights. Chopper and Archer followed soon and then the darkness was well and truly silent.

* * *

Hours later found the Four Wings of Sand Island coming up fast on the KC-10 Extender that Headquarters had allocated for their use during the mission. Blaze would've preferred a KC-135, but all those were busy servicing the mudhens and hogs working close air support on the front.

Thankfully, the sun was up now, so Blaze didn't have to rely on the lights of the tanker to guide him. For that he was glad, because refueling in the day was dangerous enough. At night, if he wasn't careful, he could hit the tanker, or find the boom coming through his canopy. Both were obviously undesired outcomes. There was a jolt as the probe and receptacle met, and Forrest glanced down to see the numbers on his fuel gauge spinning rapidly upward.

* * *

After topping off, the four sped north, the slate gray ocean below them beginning to be broken by the ice white of massive icebergs and glaciers. Soon even the water was gone, hidden by a constant blanket of ice and snow, the sky a few thousand feet above them as gray as the ocean below.

All the pilots had been bantering off and on the past few hours, to relieve the boredom of endless flying in a straight line, and now Blaze came up on the comm., cutting off Chopper as he told yet another drunken sister story.

"Okay, listen up, Wardog. We're getting close to the target now. Another hour and we should be there. Just so you guys aren't caught off guard, in a half hour we're gonna head for the deck and fly inbound at 1000 feet. Make sure your systems are set to CCRP and not CCIP and be ready to drop tanks."

To keep refueling to a minimum, and to make sure that the four were at maximum fuel, the Wardog Raptors had been fitted with drop tanks. After the tanker stop, they'd switched to the tanks, drawing off the disposable pods until the last possible second. The drop tanks would run dry around the time the four Raptors made their dive to 1000 feet.

Blaze finished. "You guys ready?"

"Chopper, roger."

"Edge roger."

"Archer, roger."

"Good. Get ready. I'll give you a mark to dive." That brought about a flurry of activity as the four checked systems and made sure that their TOT was still in the green. In just a few hours, the Osean army would launch a massive assault on the Yuktobanian forces and drive them to Cinigrad. If the Four Wings of Sand Island were even a few minutes late, the Hrimfaxi would be able to shoot off a couple burst missiles and would cause massive casualties on the front lines.

Half an hour later and Blaze began the countdown. "Five…four…three…two…one…mark." He pushed his stick forward and the F-22 began hurtling towards the deck, passing from ten thousand to nine thousand in just under half a minute. In under five minutes, Wardog flight was on the deck and Forrest reached for the button that would punch his tanks and pylons clear, restoring maneuverability and stealth.

In a move like some World War II movie, the drop tanks fell away as one, along with the pylons. Forrest felt his jet lurch from the sudden loss of weight, but he danced on the controls and managed to stay at 1000. All too soon, the four began approaching the picket sub line.

A familiar voice came over the radio. "Wardog this is Thunderhead. You are approaching the limits of the submarine ring. Standby to go to radio silence."

"Well," Chopper grumped. "Maybe I'll try talking to myself." There was a burst of static as one by one, the others cut off their comms and Blaze shut his off as well. Now he was alone, except for the low whine of his engines and the whoosh of his air conditioning system, those two noises only broken by the sound of his own breathing in his mask.

The world on the other side of the canopy was stark white and lifeless under the gray sky. Before the ace had been able to see pockets of water poking up through the ice cap, but now even that was impossible to see. How the sailors of the Yuke submarine corps managed to stay sane cooped up in a tube like a sub, and be surrounded by all this lifelessness was beyond him. Even the desert had more life and personality to it than this.

A blip appeared on the former Mobius 1's radar, which was running in air-to-ground mode, so he was able to pick up ground targets. If the Yukes had interceptors coming after them, the ace wouldn't be able to see them, unless he found them with his own two eyes. Soon Blaze was able to see the entire ring of subs on his scope and he found a gap in the ring, hopefully one that would be wide enough for four F-22s to slip through without being noticed.

'Let's hope this works,' he thought as he angled his jet for the gap, trusting the other three would follow him like they'd briefed. Wardog 2, 3, and 4 were to keep their eyes on him and follow his lead. That way, none of them would stray and inadvertently catch the attention of the Yuktobanian subs. It would be tough flying, but if anyone could do it, it would be the Four Wings of Sand Island.

In the distance, Brian could see the faint outlines of conning towers off to his left and right, towers which seemed to slide past with agonizing slowness. Hopefully they weren't…

"This is the Advisor from HQ! We just detected ELF traffic from one of the picket subs to the Hrimfaxi! She's going to dive!"

Caught.

Chopper came up next and he was obviously happy. "Well, our cover's blown anyway! I'm gonna start talking now!" Blaze just rolled his eyes before issuing orders.

"Okay! Full throttle and get ready for the run! Move it!"

The ace matched his actions to his words and rammed his throttle into full afterburner, locking on to the huge blip on his radar that could only be Hrimfaxi, and began concentrating on the line that was running down the center of his HUD. He was waiting for the circle at the top to begin blinking, at which time he'd haul back into a gut-turning climb and release his JDAM, sending the bomb in a long arc to impact the Hrimfaxi.

Then it hit Blaze. That was only if the sub wasn't rigging for an emergency dive, like it was now. If that submarine dove, it'd be beyond their reach and countless Osean soldiers on the front line would die! The Ribbon punched a button on his MFD, changing the attack method from CCRP to CCIP. CCIP would allow him to release much closer to Hrimfaxi and get a larger chance of blowing the damn thing out of the water.

He heard surprised shouts behind him as the other three Wardog members hauled back in CCRP mode. Edge in particular was screaming at him to come back, but her shouts fell on deaf ears. Blaze of Wardog was gone, and General Forrest of Mobius Squadron was in the pilot seat. Now was the time for action and Forrest had no time to explain his plan, because it would cost them precious time.

Thirty seconds left. It would take him probably ten to reach the target, another ten to get set up and that left ten seconds error time. It would come down to the wire. He also had Wardog's bombs to worry about now. If he was too late coming off target, he'd most likely get hit by his own squadron's bombs.

'C'mon baby, I need miracle,' he thought desperately to his Raptor. Apparently the war machine heard him because Hrimfaxi was looming in his HUD, and growing larger by the second. He pitched up hard, crushed into his seat by g's and screamed up to five-thousand feet. There he rolled and pulled, going into a fast Split-S, gathering speed, and as a result, lengthening the distance he'd need to pull out safely. The ace felt his pulse quicken as he dove on the dart shape below him, counting the seconds until the sub was able to dive and also counting the seconds until Wardog's bombs hit their mark.

"Come on!" Forrest growled as he watched his altitude speed down, his airspeed blast up, and the pipper dance over his target. Time seemed to slow. The pipper shot one way, then the next. If it didn't line up in the next second, Blaze would be forced to pull up…

The pipper merged with Hrimfaxi.

"Blaze pickle!" He shouted gleefully as he hauled back on the stick and was once again crushed by the g's, the jet bottoming out a mere fifty feet over the waves, and heading away fast. The Ace of Aces pulled back to gain altitude and twisted around in his seat, seeing Hrimfaxi slip below the waves. He cursed fluently for a second, realizing he'd miscalculated his time, then there was a fountain of water blown high into the sky, larger than a one ton bomb should've created.

Three smaller explosions blossomed a second or two later and Blaze compared the size of the explosions. The earlier one was much larger. That confirmed it. He'd hit Hrimfaxi. He laughed hysterically, both because his impromptu plan had worked and because he was still in one piece and not in many pieces sinking towards the ocean floor.

Forrest became aware of frantic voices shouting, the voices of his squadron.

"Blaze!"

"Kid! You alright!?"

"Captain!" Forrest moved back toward the point where he'd abandoned his team and found the three Raptors moving in a three-man formation and circling, evidently waiting for him.

"I'm alright."

There was a simultaneous cry of "Blaze!" then the radio was alive with questions. Forrest capped them before they got too out of hand.

"Alright, cut the chatter. We've still got a mission to do. I didn't manage to sink Hrimfaxi. It's still there, but I think I managed to damage it." Ignoring the continued questions about how he knew and just what the _hell_ he'd done to achieve that damage, Blaze looped back toward his target, rising to above five thousand feet, just in case the submarine tried to pay back his damage in spades, trusting his squadron to follow after him.

The four found themselves orbiting the sizeable arctic lake with an island and a facility on the island, presumably barracks for the submariners when they got cabin fever. Somewhere below the surface the Hrimfaxi was lurking, hopefully damaged. Only in Blaze's dreams would he wonder if he'd single handedly sunk the attack sub.

The ace glanced at the clock in his cockpit and noted that the blitz into Yuke territory had begun. If that stupid submarine was going to attack, then this would be the time.

Almost as if to answer his thoughts, Edge got on the radio.

"The Hrimfaxi's antenna has appeared above water!"

Blaze looked down and, sure enough, there was a massive shadow looming up from the depths, like a whale coming up from below. The surface exploded and the Hrimfaxi was on the surface again.

"Get it!" Blaze shouted, rolling into a dive to attack the submarine. They were too late. A pillar of smoke rose from the bow of the submarine. Blaze began hounding Thunderhead. "Where's it going!?"

The AWACS was silent, then came back on. "It's on its way to the front lines!"

Chopper made the situation worse. "Uh, guys? That thing just launched some kind of weird carrier drone."

Forrest made a disgusted noise. "UAVs. I _hate_ UAVs!" But all the same, the ace abandoned his attack on Hrimfaxi and went after one of the three carrier drones that were now dancing in the sky. He locked one up after a quick switch to air-to-air mode and rolled in on its tail. The operator was good, but Blaze wasn't Mobius 1 for nothing and kept up with it. This was his worst nightmare come true. A fully air-to-air capable UCAV. The drone would be able to pull more g's than he could, and it was lighter, but like every weapon, that drone had a weakness, and Blaze was willing to bet that it was the UCAV's camera.

If the Predator was anything to go by, there would be a big blind spot wherever the camera wasn't looking. The drone Split-S'ed and Forrest followed after it, trying desperately to keep on its tail. When the drone rolled, Blaze saw what he was looking for. There was a small bulge on the underside of the UCAV, and the ace caught the wink of glass reflecting sunlight. Forrest hoped that that reflection was the camera lens.

"Hey! Blaze to Wardog, I think I found a blind spot! Get above them and come down from up top! The camera's on the bottom!" Clicks came back, so Forrest rolled level and pulled up, going up above the drone, then dove again. The drone was weaving in a serpentine pattern below him, obviously trying to find the pilot. Blaze switched to guns, not bothering to reaquire the drone, because the lock would tip off the operator to where the Raptor was at.

Forrest held his fire for a second or two, then lined up his pipper and pulled the trigger. The buzzsaw in his wing root came to life and a stream of lead shot out and shattered the drone. With the UCAV on a one-way ticket into the water, Blaze turned away and found his other three wingmen in battles themselves. The ISAF ace was surprised to see that all three manned planes had the initiative and were taking full advantage of it, hounding the UAVs relentlessly, forcing the operators of the drones to constantly evade slash and dash dives as the Raptors dove on them, never allowing much time to recover.

Edge slashed again, then pulled up, going high again in an effort to gain alititude on the drone. She didn't quite make it and the drone got behind her. Now Nagase was on the defensive, rolling, jinking, and diving, doing everything she could to throw off the persistent UAV.

"Damn!" She cursed. "He's really glued on me!"

Blaze rammed the throttle to just short of afterburner and took off in pursuit of his wingman's foe. "Hang on, Edge!" Forrest called reassuringly as he locked up the drone and got ready to open fire on it. "Give me a second!"

The drone didn't give him that second, the UCAV rolled inverted and dove, heading for the slate gray ocean, Forrest in hot pursuit, determined to keep the drone in front of him where it belonged. Blaze would commit suicide before he let himself get shot down by a fancy RC toy!

The two aircraft passed over the island, then wrenched around in a hard turn back towards the battle. Brian caught a fleeting glimpse of Edge above him, reversing as well, either giving him back up or just keeping an eye out for the Hrimfaxi, because the sub had yet to surface, or launch a missile. Even as he rolled to stay with the drone again, Blaze couldn't help but wonder why the attack boat didn't launch a burst missile right then and there. Drones were expendable, so with all of Wardog tangled up in a mini furball below five thousand feet, a burst missile would kill them off, unless they disengaged to get to a safe altitude, in which case the drones would follow and shoot them down. He could only hope that the bomb hit had done enough damage to prevent an undersea launch.

A river of red poured from the sky, but Blaze hadn't been the one doing the shooting. The UAV burst into flames and arced for the ocean, blowing up just before touching the waves. Forrest looked around for the source, then Edge dropped from the sky and latched onto his left wing.

"I had a good shot," the female pilot remarked smugly.

The Ace of Aces grinned behind his mask. "Well, Splash One for Edge. Chopper, Grimm, how're you guys doing?" He looked over and saw either Chopper or Archer screaming on a dive, the drone he was aiming for hotly chased by the second Raptor. A stream of tracers divided the sky and the drone exploded.

The two reformed and rejoined Blaze and Edge. "Pretty good, Captain," Grimm remarked brightly. The flight turned around and headed back for the submarine's lake, climbing to above five thousand feet as they did, just to make sure that the Hrimfaxi wouldn't be able to get the drop on them.

A livid voice came over the radio. "What're you four doing!?" Blaze recognized the voice as that advisor guy from HQ. "The troops on the front just took a burst missile hit! Attack you idiots! Sink that sub!"

Forrest shook his head and replied. "I'd love to sir, but the sub dove."

"It did _what_!?"

"Relax, man," Chopper cut in. Blaze held his piece, content to let the louder pilot shut the advisor down. "The Kid did a fancy bit of flying and damaged the sub. Now it looks like they can't launch an underwater assault."

The advisor huffed. "Be that as it may, Lieutenant, the fact still remains that the Hrimfaxi will slip away under the ice cap! So _attack!_"

Forrest chipped in now. "Look, we'd love to, like I said, but the sub is _under the freaking surface!_ Besides, it won't run."

"How can you be so sure?"

The former Mobius 1's face split into a wide grin. "Because," he said simply, noticing a small wake appear above the surface, "it's coming up now." He signed off and set his radar to work, getting ready to dive on the Hrimfaxi and sink it once and for all.

The surface exploded again and the dart shape of the Hrimfaxi appeared on the surface again, a plume of smoke rising into the sky.

"Hrimfaxi launching burst missile!" Thunderhead called. "Wardog it's headed your way!" That wasn't at the forefront of the aces' minds as the plates on Hrimfaxi's hull slid aside and triple-A and SAMs lit up the sky.

Forrest knew time was short. They had a limited leeway before the burst missile struck, and the sub appeared to sticking this out to the bitter end. This was it; it was now or never!

"Blaze to Wardog…We're going in!" If the other three were shocked by his decision, they didn't show it because all four planes of the flight rolled onto their backs and dove, screaming towards the ocean, bombs prepped and ready to go. "Hit whatever looks good!" Forrest put his pipper right on the bulge that was the Hrimfaxi's bridge and hit the button. The F-22 lurched as it shed a literal ton of weight in a second, Forrest pulling up hard, Edge Chopper and Archer right behind him, having released their bombs at roughly the same time.

The ace's altimeter cleared the five thousand mark right as the burst missile went off. The four aircraft bounced around on the bare fringe of the deadly shockwave, but they were above the safe altitude and Forrest looked back the moment the light behind him faded.

He whooped excitedly when he saw what was happening below him.

Hrimfaxi was listing badly, four gaping holes blown in her hull, the two closest to the water were filling rapidly every time a wave broke over the ravaged ship's frame. Even as the ISAF ace watched, the list increased and the ship was rapidly slipping below the surface. There was clearly no turning the ship around.

Wardog orbited, watching the death throes of the Yuke submarine, but if the ship managed to right itself, there would've been no way for the four aces to sink it again because all four had used their two JDAMs, so they were effectively out of the fight, unless Forrest tried for a lucky Sidewinder shot.

Blaze switched to the intercepted comms frequency.

"Hrimfaxi, we need another burst missile!"

There was resignation in the voice that replied. Perhaps it was the Captain. "We can't. The Hrimfaxi is going down."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"We're taking on water right now and there's no way to stop it."

"Who sank you!?"

"Four F-22 Raptors from Osea. I think they're the same ones that sank Scinfaxi."

There was silence on the line. "Godspeed, Hrimfaxi. Be assured your actions will be honored."

"Thank you. I guess they were the Demons of Razgriz, not us." There was the sound of rushing water in the background.

"Yeah."

Blaze switched back to the proper frequency and noted the submarine's bridge slip under. The four Raptors made one more pass, seeing a vague shape sparking beneath the slate ocean right before there was an audible 'whump' and a massive fountain of spray was blown high into the sky.

"Blaze to Thunderhead."

"What is it?" There was a note of hope in the AWACS controller's voice.

"Inform Sand Island and the higher ups that the Hrimfaxi has been sunk." Evidently Thunderhead was too shocked or relieved to speak again, because Forrest only got clicks back.

The four F-22s turned away, setting course for Sand Island and leaving nothing but floating bits of debris on the surface.

* * *

Reaching Sand Island took longer than before because now Wardog no longer had their drop tanks to draw off of, so they had to refuel once where they'd been before and again about three hours out from the island, but soon enough, the tropical island came into view, and the four Raptors swooped low, by prearrangement doing victory rolls over the runway.

The aces were greeted by cheering mechanics and other base personelle as the four taxied to their spots and shut down.

A grinning Pops was at Forrest's side the moment the canopy began to come up, taking Blaze's helmet and clapping the ISAF ace on the shoulder.

"Remind me never to doubt you again, Forrest," the old man said with a laugh. "You're a suicidal guy, but I can't deny that you get the job done!"

Brian grinned right back. "I've been told that a couple of times. Didn't I tell you it'd be fine?"

"You did, but I guess I just don't know what you're capable of when you put your mind to it." Both men laughed as Blaze unstrapped and descended the ladder, where the ace was promptly mobbed and hoisted on to the shoulders of the cheering soldiers, the other three members of Wardog being treated much in the same manner.

* * *

The O'Club was probably the most extravagant building on base, with black and white checkered tile floors, mahogany trim and baseboard, bar and barstools, the glass of the bottles behind the bar shone from being polished with meticulous care, and all around, on the walls, were photos of graduating classes, various notable pilots who'd been stationed on Sand Island since it's establishment as a base, gentle lighting, and, more solemnly, a small monument in one corner which had a metal stand, polished to a brilliant shine, and was draped with equally shiny dog tags.

Every person on base, from the lowest enlisted, to Colonel Perrault himself, knew of the significance of the monument. It was a tribute to all the KIAs who came from Sand Island. Some hundred tags hung there, swaying and twirling gently in the Club's air conditioning.

Wardog's members were plunked down in a booth and ordered a round of drinks by one of the Security Forces guys on base. When everyone in the club had a shot of Jeremiah Weed in one hand, the same guy raised his glass and announced in a loud voice,

"To Lieutenant Forrest and Wardog Squadron! The best damn fighter pilots to ever set foot in the sky!"

A loud "hear hear!" rang through the club and they all drank, Forrest enjoying the acid-like feel of the drink burning its way down his throat. He hadn't had a shot of Weed since the destruction of Megalith five years before.

Blaze spotted Pops in one corner with a smile on his face and a shot glass in one hand, the glass filled with gold liquid.

"Hey, Pops! Remember, yours is on me!"

Pops raised his glass in salute and drained it, then the party got started.

It was a rousing celebration that lasted until well past midnight, with all four pilots drinking heavily, though Brian was careful to watch himself so his tongue didn't loosen and reveal that he was Mobius 1. Edge too didn't seem particularly interested in getting hammered, but the same couldn't be said for Chopper. He was slurring words within the first hour of the party, though his playing skills weren't diminished.

The loud pilot had produced an electric guitar somewhere and sang a drinking song by a couple of Viper pilots from Osea, but they'd found fans all over Usea as well. Forrest had lost track of the times one of the guys he used to fly with, a man who'd later joined Mobius Squadron for the assault on Megalith, had grabbed a guitar and played this song, Jeremiah Weed, and others like World War III and Predator Eulogy.

The song's authors, known as Dos Gringos, were a favorite of Blaze's and he joined in with the singing. Finally the party wound down as the soldiers got back to their duties and Forrest reminded his team that they had a mission the following afternoon.

Forrest went to bed that night feeling pleasantly warm from the Weed and the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, this whole hiding in Osea thing would work out in the end.

So the Hrimfaxi's dead and we arrive at what I like to think of as the half-way point in the game, which means that this story is roughly half-way done. Keep an eye out for more frequent updates for the next few months as I'm now on summer break. Not daily updates, not by a long shot, seeing as I'm working on two other stories besides this one, but certianly more than the roughly once a month I've been managing.

**Glossary:**

**ELF:** Extremely Low Frequency. Gotta love the military's creativity with names right? This is the preferred method of communication between subs.

**UCAV: **Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehical. Pretty much a UAV with teeth.

**KIA: **Killed in Action. Self-explanatory.

**Jeremiah Weed:** No, it's not a joint. It's a bourbon with a VERY high alchohol level. I think it's somehting like fifty percent. Favored drink of fighter pilots everywhere.

**Dos Gringos:** Belive it or not, but these guys are real, not just a figment of my overactive imagination. Trip and Snooze (TAC names obviously) are a couple of Viper pilots who started a band and decided to call it Dos Gringos. The song titles I mentioned are real songs and most of them can be found on YouTube. Check it out.


	14. Remember

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't like repeating myself, but oh well...I own nothing

Last time: The Hrimfaxi sinks

This time: Wardog goes to liberate a POW camp.

Well, the timing couldn't be better. Today's Memorial Day here in the States. If you don't know, or care, this is the day we're supposed to honor our vets and the vets who didn't make it back. That said, I dedicate this chapter to those Veterans, MIAs, KIAs, and POWs, past, present, and though it's a sad thing to think about, future.

God bless our boys!

* * *

Blaze awoke the morning after the party with a mild headache, which he knew the exact source of. He knew that he might've made a mistake in drinking that Jeremiah Weed, but there was no helping it. He and his squadron, his squadron that he'd trained from nuggets no less, with a lot of help from Bartlett.

Forrest had to admit, he was a little nervous when he'd planned his assault on Hrimfaxi, concerned that his team wouldn't have followed the suicidal plan, but they'd done it spectacularly, even during his little improvisation during the burst missile attack. The ace had spoken with Thunderhead after the assault and the AWACS had said that if he'd been just six seconds slower, they would've been killed by the ICBM.

The ISAF ace, for obvious reasons, didn't tell his team that they'd come within seconds of ending their lives by following him. Not the best thing to tell your team when they were still on Cloud Nine about sinking the monstrous submarine.

Now they were assembled in the briefing room once again, getting ready for their next foray into the hostile Yuktobanian territory. Sure enough, Perrault waddled into the room, along with the Intel officer.

"Alright, people," The commander said, getting right to the chase. "We think we may have a lead on Bartlett." The big man smirked as all four pilots sat forward on the edge of their seats. "Well then, care to take over?"

The intelligence analyst stepped forward. "Gladly. As the Commander said, we've located a POW camp in the mountains of Yuktobania. This camp is located in a valley and we've dispatched a contingent of Marines to secure the Osean POWs and get them ready for transport. Now, also at this camp are some rather high-value political prisoners, so to keep them and the others in the camp under their thumb, the Yukes have a flight or two of fighters constantly patrolling the skies.

"To allow the Sea Goblin helicopters to get clear passage into the camp, Wardog is to engage and destroy all the fighters in the area and achieve and maintain air superiority. I expect no trouble from you four. This should be just a cakewalk for you after what we've seen from your Hrimfaxi assault."

"Sir, if this is a POW camp, what can we expect in the way of SAM and Triple A support?" Forrest asked, not about to let that little detail slide.

"A fair bit, but you shouldn't have to worry about them. We're sending a couple of Cobras and Apaches in with the Chinooks we're using for the airlift. They'll handle the surface fire. You're just their to keep their butts safe. Any more questions?"

"Sir, what will happen to Blaze if we bring Captain Bartlett back?" Edge asked. The prospect of facing the war without Forrest flying on her right like some kind of unstoppable protector was a little daunting. The intelligence officer frowned and looked to Perrault who looked rather like he was constipated.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. There's evidence from the NSA that there're other POW camps located around the country. Bartlett may be in one of those or he may be in this one." The obese commander scowled more heavily. "Whether or not he is in there, you're still going."

Brian scowled. "She never said we weren't. She's just asking a question."

Before Perrault could retort, the Intel officer cut in. "Well, if there are no more questions, we'll get underway. Good luck. Oh, and before I forget, to help the operation, the weather over the operational area is predicted to be pretty crappy. Be careful not to smack yourselves into the mountains."

If any of the pilots were nervous about flying in bad weather and rising terrain, none showed it. They were confident now. For the first time, Blaze felt as if he wouldn't have to constantly keep a half an eye on his wingmen. For their part, the wingmen were confident that they wouldn't get killed in a heartbeat. Until now, all three of the junior pilots had feared making a mistake that would get them an enemy MiG on their tail and an Aphid or Atoll right up the tailpipe.

Despite the risks, the blow against Hrimfaxi had bolstered their own morale and that of the troops everywhere. They'd even won a medal for their 'heroism'. Though, as he had after the destruction of Megalith and Stonehenge and all the other missions he'd survived during the Continental War, Forrest just saw it as his job. Most military heros did think like that. They'd either say that they were just doing their jobs, trying to save buddies, or they gave the credit for all the KIAs out there.

* * *

Soon enough, as per routine, the Four Wings of Sand Island, a name that was starting to stick with them after that news reporter that was running around base had gotten through with them, were in the air and on their way to the operational area. The newsie had yet to get a decent picture of Forrest, true to his Mobius 1 roots, he'd done everything in his power to avoid a photo and so far he'd been successful. No one from Usea had come knocking yet, unless you counted Yellow Squadron or their imitators. Blaze was positive it was them, though, and he was determined to repeat his feat over Farbanti during that final battle and shoot them all down…again.

"Blaze, you alright?" Edge's voice came over the ace's headset, a concerned note in her voice. Forrest had to smile behind his mask. Lately, he and his wingman had been getting to the point where they could read each other's movements and emotions simply by the way the other flew. Grimm had mentioned over the course of the war that he and Chopper were getting to be the same way.

"Yeah, just thinking."

"You seem to do a lot of that when we're flying, Kid," Chopper piped up. "That's kinda bad, isn't it?"

"Only during a dogfight," Blaze replied, adjusting their course a little so as to get them to the target area on time. They were about a minute behind schedule and that was a lot of time to make up when the blitzkrieg the Oseans were doing needed pinpoint precision. They were supercruising to try and make up the time, but if the former Mobius 1's intuition was accurate, they were going to be around thirty seconds late getting on station.

"Hey," Chopper said, "Look down, guys! It's the front line!"

All the pilots looked and saw an Osean tank column trundling over the steppes below them, moving for a cluster of enemy buildings that were about two or three miles ahead of them, lined with pillboxes and a watchtower.

"I hope my brother's alright." Grimm said with a nervous note in his voice.

"You never said you have a brother," Edge answered with surprise.

"Yeah, he's with the Army. I look up to him a lot."

"What unit?" Forrest asked.

"Uh…I think he just got transferred to the 101st Airborne."

"The Screaming Eagles, huh?"

"Yeah…" It was clear that Grimm didn't want to dwell on his brother any more than he had to, so he didn't go insane at worrying about whether or not the elder Grimm was alright. The rest of the flight was sensitive enough to pick up on it and shut up.

* * *

A quick refuel later and the Four Wings of Sand Island came up on a massive cloud bank that seemed to stretch from one end of the horizon to the other. All the pilots knew that this was the front that was busy moving across their operational area.

A sudden burst of wind slammed into four fighters and jerked them around the sky, forcing the pilots to dance on their controls to just keep the planes flying straight.

"Damn! Kid why the hell are we doing this again!?" Chopper shouted as his fighter nosed up, then got hit by a downburst and dropped almost a hundred feet. His lead, struggling with his own fighter, didn't respond right away because he was wrestling with his own F-22.

"Attention Wardog," It wasn't Thunderhead's voice, but the voice of the ground team that had snuck into the camp in order to get the captured pilots ready for evac. "This is the ground force. We can hear your engines. You guys had better hurry up and clear out the enemy patrols because the comm. room we've captured might be discovered at any time."

Blaze answered. "This is Wardog 1, roger. We'll get right on that. Okay Wardog, split and kill things."

"You got it, Kid." Chopper and Grimm banked and split from the group. During the flight over, Blaze had decided that the best way to find the enemy would be to split and have the two elements search independently of each other. To further their odds of finding an enemy air patrol, Forrest had Edge diverge from him, spitting out about two miles and beginning to sweep with their radar.

If the ace had the option, he would've had his team use the versatility of their radars to jam the enemy's SAM and Triple A radar, but that would be like waving a flag over their heads that said "Hey! OADF in the area!"

Considering this was a semi-secret mission, they wouldn't be able to take the chance, so the flight decided to rely on their stealth and hope they would be able to remain unnoticed for the time needed.

"Chopper, anything?"

"Negative. This weather's really screwing with the radar." Sure enough, when the ace glanced at his scope, he saw a bit of clutter from the clouds around them, probably reflecting off ice crystals or something. The fact that the clouds were even there was a bad thing, because it meant that the aces wouldn't be able to see the enemy unless they got really lucky and sighted the bandits.

A yellow dot appeared on Blaze's radar screen then another and another.

"Hey, Edge. Are you getting these echoes?"

There was static then the other pilot came back with a glow in her voice. "That affirmative, Blaze."

"Good. Well, lock 'em up and get ready to shoot!" Even as he spoke, the ace was putting his radar cursors over the contact, noticed Edge go for a second one, then primed an AMRAAM for firing. The contact, now no longer a square but a triangle, showing the target's direction and speed, was in the midst of a right turn in front of the two Wardog pilots. That told Blaze right off that they hadn't been detected. If they had, the contacts would've turned to the left, turning into the onrushing Raptors. "Blaze, Fox Three!"

"Edge, Fox Three!"

Two AIM-120s dropped from the ventral bays and shot off into the murk, flying in perfect formation on the way to the target. Forrest waited until the A on his HUD turned to a T then reverted to track-while-scan mode and locked the last fighter.

"Fox Three, Blaze."

A third missile zipped into the clouds. Both of the aces waited for the countdown on the HUD to hit zero. The heavy cumulonimbus clouds hid any potential explosions.

"You see anything?" Nagase asked.

Brian snorted. "What do you think? Shall we go look?"

"Let's."

The two F-22s headed to the area where they'd shot and went to guns, keeping heads on a swivel and also looking for signs of a trio of shoot-downs. The ISAF ace was almost positive they'd shot them down. The enemy pilots would've been caught off guard when the planes simply began exploding.

"I don't see anything, Edge."

"Neither do I."

Forrest tilted his stick forward, going into a gentle dive. "Let's look under the clouds. Maybe they hit the ground already." Sure enough, when the two Wardog fighters dipped below the cloud layer and into the driving rain and snow that was currently pounding the camps, they saw three fires burning below and Edge sighted a brilliantly orange parachute five hundred feet below them. It made Blaze glad that he was in a heated aircraft cockpit. He wouldn't want to be dangling in a parachute in _this_ weather.

"Well, Splash one for Edge and two for me."

Chopper answered. "Awsome, Kid! Grimm and I found another patrol and splashed them! We're about twenty miles north of you, tailing another one."

"Good. Let me know when you shoot them down." Clicks came back and a flash of movement caught Forrest's eyes. "Hey! Edge! Tally-ho, right off the nose, around five miles out!"

"I see them. Edge, engaging."

"Blaze engage." The element shot for the other formation, punching through the sound barrier and moving into gun range. The two Osean fighters had dipped low, to get into the enemy's blind spot, below and behind, where the fighter's own fuselage shielded the Wardog pilots from view. Unlike the last formation, this one was a two-ship, a pair of Mig-29 Fulcrums.

"Ready, Nagase?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Let's go." The two Raptors pulled into a climb and began lining up their pippers. Blaze's fighter slid into the pipper without any maneuvering from the ace himself, so he squeezed the trigger for a second and spit a trail of tracers across the stormy sky and shredded the tail section of the Fulcrum, which went into a death spiral when one of its two tail fins sheared off and spun into the murk. Edge's target's engines burst into flames and began to wheel wildly then there was a puff from the cockpit as the pilot punched out.

"This is Blaze. Splash another patrol. Chopper, how're you guys doing?"

"Standby…Yeah! Scratch a patrol." Forrest glanced at his kneeboard, checking how many fighters they'd splashed against how many patrols were left.

"Right. Two patrols left. Find them then link back up over the camp." They'd been lucky so far. The first two patrols had been splashed by surprise. Forrest and Nagase had found their second patrol by chance and from the sounds of it, so had Grimm and Chopper.

This last patrol would know something fishy was up and would be on guard against a potential bounce. After a couple of minutes and no sign of enemy fighters, the former Mobius 1 had his group begin running a CAP pattern over the camp. They'd shot down most of the patrols, so they had some semblance of air superiority. Hopefully, the racetrack they were running now would hopefully be able to pick up the enemy.

They didn't have to wait long. Not five minutes passed and Chopper said he had a series of contacts. Using the data link the Raptors were capable of allowed Forrest and Nagase to see the contacts as well. And what he saw made him nervous.

"Chopper, don't engage yet. Wait for Edge and me, that formation looks bigger than it should." The other pilot acknowledged and waited for the other element to link up. Once the flight was back together again, Blaze took the lead and led his formation to the merge with the enemies.

On radar were four blips. That told the ace that either the other two patrols had linked up or this patrol was larger than the others they splashed so far. Seeing that the largest patrol had been a three-ship, Forrest was leaning towards the former. This was a POW camp and the Yukes would shunt their larger squadrons to the front to try and stem the on-rushing Osean armies.

"Lock and shoot guys."

The pilots locked up the enemies, one Osean locking onto one Yuke, and then pushed the trigger together. Four missiles dropped into space and raced off into the murky sky. All the aces waited with bated breath, then three of the contacts vanished from the radar.

The only one remaining turned away and bugged out, but it was the one Blaze had shot at.

"Hey! You missed, Kid! Huh, is the world ending or something?" Chopper said in a teasing voice.

"Wow. You must be losing your edge, Blaze," Edge added.

"Shut up. I'm not allowed to miss once in a while?" Forrest retorted, to the laughter of his wingmen. The ISAF ace sighed and shook his head. He would never live this down. Chopper would see to it, that much was sure. "Right. Sea Goblin this is Wardog, cleared into the LZ. Careful about the ack-ack in the area."

Sea Goblin was the callsign for the Marine choppers that would be coming to evac the POWs to the Kestrel, where they would be loaded onto another transport and flown to a military hospital out by Cape Landers, where this whole mess had begun.

"Roger Wardog. Sea Goblin is beginning its approach. Keep an eye out for bandits."

"Will do. Good luck." The ace signed off and began to circle the camp. Soon, four black shapes came into view, two Sea Stallions being escorted by two Apache Longbow gunship helicopters. The Longbows would be able to keep any SAM or armor off the ground troops as they shuttled the prisoners onto the Stallions.

Hopefully.

The downwash from the Stallion's rotors stirred the snow and dust into a white tornado, near a guard tower and pillbox, obviously meant to keep the prisoners from escaping. The moment the wheels on the two cargo helicopters touched the deck, four Marines rushed from a nearby building and took up firing positions around the choppers, making a defensive ring to keep any prying Yuke eyes away.

Once the postions were established and the area secured, both by the hovering Longbows, chainguns and Hellfire missiles ready to go, and by Wardog, the roar of the high powered jet engines echoing over the valley the POW camp was centered in, a constant reminder that death flew overhead in the form of four twenty millimeter cannons, ready to rain high explosive shells down on anyone foolish enough to launch an operation to stop the prisoners from escaping, men and women in ratty and tattered tunics and trousers, stumbled barefoot out of the same building that the Marines had been holed up in.

"Here they come," the lead Stallion commented brightly. "Can you see their smiling faces?" It was a joke, because the driving mix of rain and snow made seeing much of anything pretty much impossible.

"Hey, Sea Goblin, is there a Captain Bartlett on board? Check for a Capt. Bartlett." Edge voiced the request that had been on the tongue of the rest of the flight ever since they'd launched on this mission. Would they finally find the MIA firebrand who'd taught them how to work as a team? Or was he still missing, maybe even a bloated and decaying corpse just miles away from Sand Island?

There was a moment of silence.

"Mmmm…Nope, no one named Bartlett here." The four Raptor pilots felt their spirits drop. But they didn't despair yet. There was still one other chopper to check. "How about you?"

The second pilot's answer was quicker. He'd probably checked the moment he'd heard the question. "Nope. No Bartlett here either." Forrest's stomach dropped into his boots. Their commander was missing. It really irked the ace to not know Heartbreak 1's fate, whether he was alive or…well missing.

"Check again!" Edge commanded, a hard note in her voice.

"Nagase, drop it," Forrest said in a weary tone. It'd been a long flight, an intense few minutes searching for the enemy patrols, then the emotional roller coaster just now. "If he's not there, then he's not there."

"But…"

"Edge!" Now the lead's tone was stern, a tone he rarely took unless he was dead serious about something. "Enough."

"Kid she's just…"

"I know, and I'm disappointed too, but there's no point in pressing if he's not there."

Edge sighed. "You're right, Blaze. Sorry."

"It's alright. I know how you feel. Trust me." The number of times he'd waited with bated breath to see if comrades of his had survived punching out of a stricken airplane, which was often a dangerous process at its safest, lethal at its worst, and the number of times they hadn't made it…Blaze couldn't even keep track.

"The faces of the POWs. I wish I could see them…" Edge broke off and drifted low over the camp. Forrest felt a twinge of apprehension, but dismissed it. Nagase needed some kind of reassurance, so he let her go.

"Heh," Chopper chuckled. "Nagase's actually going down to look."

That odd feeling came over Blaze, the same feeling that he'd had before the Scinfaxi attack, and the attacks by Stonehenge. Something was about to go wrong.

"Edge! Get back to the formation! Now!"

Too late. There was a puff of smoke from a pillbox that was nestled in the side of a hill and a rocket, long white and the size of a telephone pole, streaked into the sky, making a bee-line for Nagase's F-22.

Nagase gritted her teeth and rammed the throttle into full AB, trying to get some speed back. In order to see the POWs properly, she'd slowed way down, and some Yuke gunner obviously couldn't resist the opportunity to shoot down one of the infamous F-22s from Sand Island.

'At least I'm not the first person to get shot down in a Raptor. Mobius 1 did that to the Erusians during the Continental War.' She thought even as she rolled and turned hard, pumping out chaff and flares to try and ditch the speeding rocket behind her.

"Edge! Edge!" Blaze's tense shouts woke her up and made her maneuver more aggressively. He was half the reason she was still here. The number of times he'd shot bandits off her tail or kept her spirits high…He really was a good friend and flight lead.

"After all this I…" She never got to finish. Her Raptor bucked. Hard. It slammed her against the restraints that kept her bound to the ejection seat and alarms began shrieking at her, various indicators all clamoring to her for her attention, trying to show her what was wrong with her bird.

The horizon began to spin, first the iron-gray clouds filler her vision, then the snow covered mountains, then the sky again.

It blurred faster and faster until Nagase couldn't tell if she was right side up or was upside down. The missile explosion had thrown her higher, allowing her to clear a ridge below that would've killed her had she been just a thousand feel lower.

A burst of static blared over her headset, then resolved into Blaze's voice, this time filled with panic. "Edge! Edge! Punch out! You hear me Nagase!? Punch OUT!"

That cut through the hazed that had filled her head, probably brought on by the smoke and tiny flames that were beginning to fill the cockpit, but despite that, she looked down and saw that striped yellow and black handle that stuck up between her legs, made of hard molded rubber and stamped with the words 'Pull to Eject'.

She didn't hesitate and time seemed to slow down as she reached for the D-shaped ring without much knowledge of knowing what she was doing. Her fingers of her left hand curled around the ring, her other hand gripping her wrist.

Nagase drew a great breath and gave a great tug.

The result was instant. There was an explosion as her canopy was blown clear of the shattered F-22, then there was a second explosion and a roar as an invisible hand reached down from the sky and slammed onto her shoulders, the g-forces that accompanied an ejection grinding into her body, hurricane winds tearing at her.

The pilot thought she was going to die, but then the force vanished and she became aware of falling before the seat she was sitting in left her without warning. Then there was a fluttering noise and the restraints that were still wrapped around her body jerked painfully, digging into the inside of her legs and her armpits as the parachuted blossomed into being above her head, slowing her descent from a chaotic rocket-propelled thrill ride to a gentle floating that lasted only a second before the wind caught her and jerked her all over the sky.

Dangling from the seat cushion that had remained firmly clipped to her hips dangled a twenty-foot cord, at the end of which was a life raft for water landings, and closest to her was her survival rucksack, something she would need when she hit the snow in a few minutes.

Kei reached up and tore off her oxygen mask and helmet, letting it drop to earth before reaching for her radio, dangling from the cord in a watertight clear plastic bag. She had to let her friends know she was alright while they were still in the area.

She ripped the bag with her teeth and dug out the hand-held radio, fumbling to get the ear piece where it belonged. The moment she turned it to the right frequency, Chopper's anxious voice came over the set.

"Edge! You alright!?" He sounded vaugley panicked, and Edge realized that he'd probably been trying for a while.

"Yeah…I'm alright."

Blaze came up next, with news that made her warm inside, despite the biting wind and driving rain. "Standby. The Apaches got the bastard who shot at you. Get a beacon going and we'll pick you up."

"Right. Give me a minute, the ground's getting awfully close." She gripped the risers of the 'chute and tried to grab the toggles that would let her control the descent. There wasn't anything to grab though, because both toggles had gotten tangled in her straps just beyond her reach, probably from the wind.

The mountain loomed in her vision and she bent her legs to avoid breaking them and looked at the horizon. She dropped to the ground in clatter of buckles and bone, rolling to dissipate her impact and stood up, reaching with numbing and shaking hands to fumble with the releases for her risers. Finally freed from the tangle of fabric straps, she hunted for her radio, which had fallen from her grip on impact.

A quick search revealed it sitting by her survival rucksack, which she scooped up and found wool gloves, put those on, along with a green wool cap, then got her radio and switched it to beacon, really just a pulse of radio clicks that went out on an international distress channel, letting everyone, friend and foe alike know she was alive.

* * *

"We have her," One of the Longbow pilots said, moving his gunship to help. The stricken pilot was only a few miles away, and within easy reach for pick-up.

"Roger," Blaze answered. "Go get her."

"Will do, standby." Forrest watched with a sense of helplessness. He couldn't do anything to help his wingman, and that really grated on his ego as a pilot, which demanded that he do _something_. The threat from the SAM was gone. The Longbows had put a Hellfire apiece into the fortification within seconds of the missile launch. They hadn't been fast enough, because the missile had hit Edge anyway.

There was an explosion on the mountain.

"The gunship crashed!" Grimm shouted in distress.

The Stallion pilots got on the comm. now. "The winds are too strong for a pick-up. We'll have to leave her and come back some other time."

"Are you insane!?" Chopper shouted angrily. "We can't just leave her here!"

Blaze, heart tearing and his conscience shrieking bloody murder, made the hardest decision of his career, both now and as Mobius 1. "We can't do anything for her now. We have to get the POWs to safety."

"Kid are you fucking _crazy!?_" Chopper almost shrieked.

"Look!" Blaze shouted, "I don't like this anymore than you do, but the weather's just too bad right now! When we get back, I'll get on Perrault's ass and get him to let us lead a TRAP force to go and get her." He keyed his mike again. "Edge, you there?"

"I'm here."

* * *

"Listen, we've gotta get these POWs back to safety and the weather's just too damn bad to rescue you right now." Edge's heart dropped for the second time that mission, and from his tone, Blaze wasn't any happier about it than she was. The ace could only imagine what Chopper was saying right then. He was probably giving the Captain the sixth degree about the decision to leave her. "Edge, you still there?"

The woman jolted as she realized she'd been silent for almost a minute. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"Do you understand what's going on?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll be back here tomorrow, I promise. In the meantime, I have another mission for you."

She blinked. What was Blaze talking about? "Uh…sure, what's the mission?"

"An Apache Longbow went down trying to get to you. Go check and make sure the crew's okay and get them to safety. If they're dead, I'm sure there's something you can use there."

Edge realized what was going on. Blaze was giving her something to do, so she didn't go crazy, and he had a point. They needed to check on the crew, and she was the only Osean in the area at that instant. "Roger. Do you have the coordinates?"

"Right here." He read off the latitude and longitude of the crash site, which she entered into her GPS that had been in her rucksack. It was a hike, almost five miles up the mountain. "You have them?"

"Yeah." She knew that this would be it. Blaze wouldn't be able to remain on station any longer. The Stallions were getting away, and with one gunship down, they would need all the air cover they could get.

"Roger that. Go get them, Edge. We'll see you tomorrow." It was an empty promise, both pilots knew that her odds of being captured were very good right then, and then there was the possibility that Perrault wouldn't let Blaze lead the TRAP force. Still, it was a nice gesture and Edge appreciated it more than words could say.

"Roger."

"Later, Edge…" He was silent, apparently trying to get a more reassuring note in before he left her to her own devices. "Good luck." There was a burst of static and Wardog was gone, leaving one of their own to the mercies of fortune, and hard weather.

Edge brushed her long bangs out of her eyes, looking up the bleak mountain slope and the hike she had in front of her to reach the Longbow crew's location. A howling wind whipped across her crash site and cut right through her flight suit. She shivered and looked at the forest ahead of her.

Kei had never felt more alone.

* * *

Well that's that. Umm, nothing really to say here.

**Glossary**

**POW:** I might've covered this already, but better safe than sorry. Stands for Prisoner of War. Pretty self explanatory.

**TRAP: **Tactical Recovery Aircraft and Personnel. These guys are real heros. They go in, put their lives on the line, all to bring back a downed airman or naval aviatior. If you're old enough to remember 1995, these guys are the guys who rescued Capt. (Ret.) Scott O'Grady from his six days of running from enemy forces in Bosnia.

**Punch Out: **I've mentioned it alot before now, but I don't think I've said what it means. Fancy term for Ejecting.


	15. On the Run

Disclaimer: Own nothing but my headset and logbook.

Last time: Edge gets shot down.

This time: The whole rescue Edge bit.

* * *

Nagase stood staring into the distance for almost a minute before she shook herself out of her funk and began to trudge up the mountain through the deep wet snow that came past the half way point on her calves. Each step soaked the legs of her flight suit and made the rough green fabric cling to her legs with every step, even despite the menial additional protection provided to her by the g-suit she still wore.

She was starting to regret the decision to take off her Oxygen mask. Even if it only provided scant warmth from the cold, she would take it. The ace was beginning to lose feeling in her cheeks, and the light jacket she wore wasn't any match for the howling wind and driving mix of rain and snow.

Pilots were taught to 'dress to egress' and that was the reason she and the other members of Wardog had put on light jackets, thinking that the possibility of getting shot down was remote, considering their skills, hardware and the fact that this was a surprise mission. They'd gotten complacent and now, Edge was paying the price for it by having to walk the five miles to the other crash site to help out her downed comrades.

The fact that they wouldn't even _be_ in this situation if she hadn't dropped low wasn't lost on the ace as she entered into a copse of evergreen trees that helped to block out the wind and allow her a small reprieve from the chill that was hanging over the mountain.

Kei had gone maybe a hundred yards from her touchdown site and she knew that, come better weather, and maybe even before, the Yuktobanian forces in the area would be out in full force, looking for her and the Apache pilots to restart their collection of enemy POWs. There was no way in hell that she would let Blaze down by letting herself get caught.

Blaze.

Just thinking of her Captain brought a smile to her face. He was somewhat distant and aloof and always seemed to be remembering some lost memories of a bygone time, but when the shit hit the fan, he was always right there, fighting as hard, and harder, than the rest of the squadron.

It had been an honor flying off his wing as Wardog 2 because she knew that he would keep her safe and get her tail clear, just as he did the same for her. As she walked along, her progress painfully slow because of the snow, Edge found herself remembering all the good times she had with her unit.

She remembered meeting Blaze for the first time at the training base where she and Chopper and Forrest had all learned to fly, though of the three of them, Blaze was by far the best. Come to think of it, even the instructors had been impressed with the almost shy pilot's prodigious skills in the cockpit…

* * *

The chief instructor pilot paced up and down the rows of the new trainees, who sat at attention as the tall, bald, and imposing black man looked at them all with eyes that seemed to X-ray your very soul. It was the stereotypical guy you thought of when someone told you about basic training, or basic pilot's school.

"All right you nuggets," the man barked, sounding very much like Sgt. Johnson from that Halo game her brother liked to play so much. "Listen up! I am Captain Jason Irwin, and I'll be in charge of your instruction from now on! You've all passed your very basic instructions and have soloed in the T-38, correct?"

"Yes sir!" The room barked as one. Capt. Irwin stopped his pacing and stood at ease in front of them.

"Good, well, lemme tell you that that don't mean shit up here at Heirlark! I don't care if you've got the worst grades in the class, because all that matters to me is how well you can fly and fight in your aircraft." He smiled, though it was more of a smirk. "Let me show you the levels of skill you can achieve if you apply yourself to the task!"

The screen behind the good Captain lit up with a Powerpoint presentation titled "Proof that Hard Work Pays Off!" Irwin clicked a wireless clicker in his hands and the slide changed, though no one could see what the image was.

"Sit at ease, nuggets, and feast your eyes on some of the greatest aces to ever take to the skies!" The pilots slid back in their seats, and Kei noticed that the pilot she was sitting next to, the rawhide patch on his chest giving his name as Brian Forrest, was watching with almost a look of nonchalance.

'What, does he think he's better than the rest of us?' She thought indignantly. 'Some nerve! Well, I'll show him!'

"Now, who's this?" The Captain asked to the room in general. It was a familiar shot of a mottled gray Raptor with the letters ISAF on the nose section and a twisting ribbon logo shining against the sun on one of the vertical stabilizers.

Forrest raised his hand.

"Yes, Second Lieutenant?"

The man stood, standing proud in the room of mostly unsure trainees. "Sir, that is the personal platform of the ace known as Mobius 1!"

"Good, well, if you're so smart, name his unit number."

"He is the lead pilot and commander for Mobius squadron which is assigned to the 118th Tactical Fighter Wing, ISAF air forces." On it went after that, and Edge realized soon enough that it was a test to see who would be confident enough to answer, either right or wrong.

* * *

Edge tripped and fell, sending snow flying. She cursed fluently as she picked herself back up, then stopped and shook her head. Chopper was rubbing off on her. Kei blinked when she realized that her reminiscing had taken her more than a half-mile from her crash site. She smiled softly. If she kept this up, she would get there in no time, and it kept her from thinking about her situation, keeping her mind off the cold was an added bonus.

She picked herself up and trudged on, searching for more memories, her cheeks heating a bit when she realized that most of them involved a certain blue-eyed flight lead.

* * *

Thousands of miles away, Wardog's members were sitting in the pilot's break room, none of the three speaking or doing much of anything. Grimm and Forrest were engrossed in a game of chess, but it was clear that neither pilot's minds were on the game since both seemed to be moving pieces at random and with no real strategic thought going on.

Chopper was pacing the perimeter of the room, and had been for the last several hours, ever since the three had come back from the mission that had ended with one of their own being left in a hostile environment.

Rain, a rarity on an island this tiny, was coming down in great sheets. The weather boys said that there was a tropical disturbance rolling through, but there was no threat of it becoming a depression or a hurricane until it was farther south. All flight activities at Sand Island had been halted until the sky cleared, though that didn't say much since Wardog was the only Osean unit to operate from the base with anything resembling regularity.

Other units, mostly A-10s topping off their tanks on the way to the front, were in and out frequently, never staying for more than an hour or two, however long it took for the ground crews to drive over in the fuel truck and fill up.

Forrest tried to calm his nerves by listening to the rain, but it never did anything for him. Usually he could count on the soothing sound to at least clear his head, but ever since Bunker Shot, when he'd had to fly in raging winds and torrential rains to cover the advancing invasion, rain had only reminded him of that mission, which inevitably led to Edge's face swimming into being before him, which got him wondering about how she was doing, and _that_, in turn, wound him up again.

"I give," he announced, tipping over his king with a finger as he stood and left the room, going down the hall to his room and flopping down on his bed. He just couldn't get his number two off his mind. Pops had already talked to him, but that had only stopped him from hopping back in his jet and taking off again, where he would've tried to do anything to help Nagase.

Blaze pulled up the blinds on his window and leaned his forehead on the cool glass, gazing out the window at the puddles that were jumping with splashes as the rain hit, small trickles running down the gutters and into a storm drain.

Finally fed up with his mind's inability to shut off, Brian grabbed a book from his trunk and sat back to read until he fell asleep. The one he'd picked had always been a surefire way to get to sleep.

The book's title was "A Political Study of the Continental War and the Resources used to Achieve Victory."

It was a wordy title for a wordy (and boring) book. Forrest had had it for almost two years now and he was only on page twenty-five out of some five hundred. It had never failed to knock him out before, and this time was no exception. Not twenty minutes after he'd started in, the book flopped to the floor, and the ace was snoring gently.

* * *

Far away, Edge was finally making some headway in her trek up the mountain to where the crashed Apache was at. The storm had spent most of its fury and was now just a light drizzle of the rain/snow mix. It still chilled the ace to the bone, but at least she wasn't _totally_ frigid now. Hypothermia was a real concern for the downed pilot, so when the storm had really picked up and made headway almost impossible, she'd found a nice and thick cluster of evergreens and dug her way into the center, startling the family of deer that were also sheltering in the copse into motion.

In her little hidey-hole, Nagase had stripped off her jacket and managed to get a small fire going to dry off her clothes, despite the risk of killing herself if the trees caught fire. Two hours later and the storm had died off enough to where she was actually able to move again, so onward she'd gone and now, three hours after leaving the trees, she was cresting a small snow drift, following a trail of metal debris. Either it was from one of the aircraft Wardog Squadron had shot down, or she was getting close to the gunship, and from the coordinates on her GPS, she was willing to bet on the latter.

Then, laid out before her, in a valley between a small hill and a cliff, was the crashed gunship. Edge blinked then noticed that the tandem canopies were both propped open. She took off, stumbling and sliding her way down the slope in a pell-mell rush to get to the downed chopper and see if the crew was around. It was obvious that they'd made it, which in and of itself was a miracle because a helicopter didn't have ejection seats, which meant that if you went down in a helicopter, you were much more likely to die because you didn't have a way out. It was one of the reasons Edge was a fighter pilot. Not that being a fighter pilot guaranteed you would live to see tomorrow, but you certainly had a somewhat better chance.

The hard wind stung at Nagase's throat as she heaved bigger and bigger breaths, vapor spewing from her mouth as she got to the helicopter and moved to the other side to see just what was there.

What greeted her made her a little queasy. There were red stains all over the side of the gunship, a tangle of footprints in the snow, then more stains on the gunner's canopy. That told Kei enough. Obviously, the pilot had gotten out first, wounded apparently, then proceeded to help his front seater to exit. Standing on the rung which let the gunner access his seat, Nagase peeked inside. There were dark brown stains on the canvas seat's upright section, which mean that both pilots were wounded and out somewhere. A brief search with her flashlight, something Edge had been hesitant to use because the bulb was an LED and that would light her up like a flare, revealed a trail of partially obscured boot prints heading off into the forest a little ways down the hill.

Muttering some of Chopper's favorite words, she started off after the two fleeing soldiers, privately wondering what was going to happen back at Sand Island and whether or not Blaze had gotten the TRAP force ready to move out.

'Stop.' She commanded herself. 'It won't do you any good to get all bent out of shape wondering if Blaze is going to come save you.'

If she couldn't concentrate on getting the hell out of here, then she would get captured and taken to the camp and _then_ she would be of no use to Blaze and Wardog or anyone for that matter. But she did notice that she had been thinking a lot about the Captain ever since she'd landed. When she was waiting for her clothes to dry especially, Kei noticed that she was going over the mystery behind some of the things he did and said, and then she would think of how the quiet man would just hang out with the three younger pilots and laugh at Chopper's stupid jokes, listen to her story about Razgriz, or play chess with Archer.

Every memory evoked a warm and happy feeling in her, something that seemed to warm her up, even with freezing winds and chill temperatures she was facing now. Sometimes, Edge wondered if she was in love with the Captain, but that thought was instantly squashed by her own (half-hearted) denials and the cold truth that the military frowned on what they called "fraternization", that is dating between two service members. Nagase knew of a couple of trainees that had been drummed out of the OADF's pilot program because they got into a relationship.

Granted it involved the guy and girl meeting in various places around base and sometimes doing unmentionable things, but even if a relationship were to blossom between her and the Captain, the Air Force would come down on them like a ton of bricks and the pair would be forced to go through a whole paper-work-laden channel just to prove that they were indeed serious about each other and that it wasn't a frivolous thing. She didn't want to put Blaze through that and she didn't want to go through it either, so she would hold off until she was sure of her feelings for Forrest, then she would wait until the OADF would be unable to get in the way before she told him.

As Edge trudged through the snow after the running gunship pilots, a little part of her, way in the back of her head, sincerely hoped that her feelings for the other pilot actually had some substance to them.

* * *

"Alright, listen up people." Perrault's voice cut through the solemn silence that hung over the briefing room. It was quiet in the room because of the missing pilot. Edge's status as a technical MIA hung like some kind of creepy specter over the other three members of Wardog, who, out of consideration for their missing teammate, had left the leather office chair to Blaze's right empty. It was Nagase's usual seat. "We will now begin SAR operations for Captain Nagase."

A ripple passed around the table at the mention of the rank. None of Wardog's members were Captains. The obese commander smirked when he noted the reaction. "That's right. You've all been promoted yet again. You can thank High Command for it." With that he stepped back and allowed the Intel Officer to take his place.

"We've been tracking Capt. Nagase's position via satellite. We have a rough idea of where she is, but since the GPS birds the OADF uses date back to the 1960's it's only accurate to within a mile or two. Then there's the Yuke jamming in the area. We're getting a signal, but it's weak and Thunderhead is having trouble engaging in ECCM. Therefore, we've equipped the Raptors with a device that should pick up the beacon and transmit it onto your HUD. Follow that and you should find Nagase. Once you do that, radio Sea Goblin and provide air cover for the Stallion as it picks her up. Questions?"

Blaze simply stood and left, not waiting to be dismissed.

Chopper and Archer looked at each other, wondering what was eating Forrest, then Davenport shrugged and followed after the brooding pilot.

Brian strode down the hall at a rapid clip, feeling a hard determination settle like an iron ball in his stomach. He hadn't felt like this since the mission to destroy Megalith, knowing what was riding on this. If he failed, Nagase would spend the war in a camp and he knew that that was unacceptable.

He became aware of Chopper and Archer hurrying to catch him, but he ignored it. This was no longer about hiding. Mobius 1 was about to make a comeback. Forrest wouldn't hold back. He'd been doing that since the war started, but now that something major was on the line, now that it was personal, the time for dawdling was over.

"Kid! Slow down, dammit!"

Forrest ignored Chopper's cry.

"What's the rush?"

"Edge's waiting on us," Brian replied in a tone that rivaled Hamilton's at his frigid best. "We can't wait. Listen, I want you two to stick together and forget about me."

"What?"

"Captain! We can't do that!" Grimm protested.

"You will. It's an order. Forget about me and just keep each other covered. I can handle myself."

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" Chopper asked roughly. "You've been uptight ever since we got back to base! Edge'll be fine!"

Forrest stopped, turned, and glared right at his loud wingman, who recoiled at the frosty fire burning in Blaze's blue eyes. It was something that he'd seen only once before, and it had scared him to death then too. It was just the way the other pilot's gaze seemed to burn right through you and pierce your soul. Chopper had never _ever _met someone who had the intensity that Wardog 1 did sometimes. It made the cheery pilot wonder if there was something more to the usually unassuming and laid-back flight lead.

"Chopper, just this once, do what I say and follow orders. Trust me, you won't be able to keep up with me." With that he did a crisp about face and strode off as if the conversation had never happened.

"Wow. Talk about intense," Grimm remarked.

"Yeah."

Nothing more was said until they were airborne and headed for the frigid mountain where their teammate waited for them.

* * *

Edge's ragged breathing filled her ears as she sprinted through the snow, trying her best to move as fast as she could from her pursuers. It was broad daylight and she'd been gathering some edible plants she'd found beneath the snow when she'd been spotted by a passing Yuke patrol that she now realized had been out looking for the three Osean pilots in the area.

Just past three in the morning the night before, the ace had caught up with the two Apache crewmen as they both limped away from their destroyed ship, though a quick look with a flashlight had revealed the trail of crimson drops they were leaving on the snow from the wounds that each sported.

Of the three, Edge was close to unharmed with only minor bumps and bruises. The Apache's pilot was next, with a scratch on his forehead that looked worse than it was. After Nagase had cleaned the wound and gotten the dried blood wiped away, all it had required was a band-aid. The pilot also had a sprained ankle from where he'd fallen getting out of the gunship in a daze, but a quick splint later and he was good to go.

The gunner was another story. He had a broken arm, gashes on his face from where his sight had bashed against his face, and a deep gash from where some metal panel had torn loose in the crash and tore his left side open. Edge had fixed him up the best she could with the contents of her kit and had given him a morphine dose from one of the four syringes that also came from the First-Aid kit.

Following that, the trio had limped down the mountain in the dark, sliding and skidding on patches of ice and wet snow that had frozen. Finally they had managed to find a suitable place for a bolt-hole and Edge and Apache's pilot, a man named Tim Thall, had spent the next few hours digging a sort of cave, pressing on even when they couldn't feel their hands anymore.

Now they were in trouble because the Yukes were hot on Edge's heels and there was no way she would be able to lose them, not dressed in an olive drab flight suit against a white mountainside. The ace wasn't stupid enough to run back to the hole, so she led the enemies away, hoping all the while that Blaze would come streaking out of nowhere and give her some close air support in the form of a 20mm cannon burst.

Even as she ran, Edge thought she could hear jet engines getting closer, but she just figured that it was the enemy launching a sortie to locate her from the air so they could vector a chopper in to capture her. If that happened she was screwed. All she had in the way of firepower was a nine-millimeter Beretta unless she could figure out a way to take the assault rifles that the guys behind her had.

* * *

In fact, Nagase's wish for Blaze to save her was coming true even at that moment. The fired up ace was embroiled in a three on one dogfight, and he was winning.

"I can't get him off me! Just who the hell is this guy!?"

The transmission from the fleeing aircraft ended in a squeal of static as the tracers from the enraged pilot's Raptor shredded the other man's plane.

"Rick!"

The other two dove on Blaze, who chopped power, hauled back on the stick, and basically flipped his F-22 onto its back while not changing direction, his Sidewinder's growl screaming at him as his thumb brushed over the trigger and let the missile go then he stalled and nosed over, gathering airspeed as he slammed the throttle back to full afterburner and dove almost straight down at the ground before blowing skyward again, getting so low that the wind from his passage made the tops of the proud pine trees sway and snap.

"Shit! Two of us in less than thirty seconds! Just who are you!?"

Blaze's response was to snap into a spiraling climb, pulling as hard as he could while still gaining airspeed, climbing up to a few thousand feet then pulling again into a hard Immelman that sent him blasting back towards the pursuing jet, the twenty millimeter coming to life again and perforating the Yuke, shattering critical controls and sending it down in a smoking arc.

Forrest reversed and headed away again, following the beeping in his headset that was getting louder by the second as he got closer and closer to his downed wingman.

"Shit! Grimm did you see that!?" Chopper yelled, awestruck as his flight lead moved away from them. The man had taken one look at the three-ship that was moving to intercept them and lit his burners before proceeding to kick the shit out of all three Yukes at once. Not once had he lost control of the fight. Not even when a Yuke managed to get a cannon shot off did he blink. It was like watching someone who wasn't human fly.

"Sure did! Just who did he train with!? The Demon Lord?"

The tracking signal on Edge picked that moment to cut out.

"Crap! Kid, they brought an electronics warfare…"

"Blaze, tallyho, engaging." Up ahead, the speck that was Blaze zoomed into the bright and clear sky, then Chopper was just able to see a bright speck move away from the speeding Raptor. "Fox Three."

A second later and the jamming AWACS that Chopper hadn't even _seen_ burst into flames and fell out of the sky.

"Damn! Kid, what did you take before the mission!?"

* * *

Below, Edge was unaware of the amazing tactics that her flight lead was pulling off. If she had, she would've immidiatly recognized him as Mobius 1. However, she was busy running through the snow with an AK-47 clutched in her hands. She'd managed to ambush the squad behind her and kill one, wound another, then snatch the AK from the dead man before running off again.

Now she was coming up with another plan, this time to capture the two men still on her before the reinforcements arrived and turned the tables. Thankfully, there was a good spot right near the bolt-hole. After getting the two injured copter pilots to agree to be bait, she'd settled in and waited. After she'd hidden, the two Apache crewmen had stepped all over her tracks, making it near impossible to tell where she'd gone. Now all they had to do was wait.

The wait wasn't long. Not three minutes later, the two Yukes came puffing into the area and spotted the two crewmen and pointed their AK-47s at the men. Edge took that time to move as silently as she could around behind them and made sure the safety on the Kalishnakov was off and the selector set for full auto.

"Well, two outta three ain't bad," one of the soldiers remarked.

"I still wanna get the bitch who killed Mikhail and hurt Yuri."

"Don't worry these guys can tell us. Now, where is she?"

Edge grinned as two helo pilots dropped flat as fast as they could and then she spoke. "I'm right behind you." The men made like they were going to turn around but she stopped them. "No. Face front and put the safeties on your weapons then toss them in front of you."

The Yukes, realizing that they'd been had, did so, where Tim and Steve, the injured gunner, scooped them up and trained them on the men.

"Raise your hands."

They did.

"Now, we're going to have a little chat."

* * *

Blaze grunted against the g's that assailed him as he snapped around, cutting inside the Yuke's turn circle and squeezed the trigger again. The last burst in his gun slammed into the opposing jet and sent him down in a fireball. The ace continued with his turn and lined up on the enemy wingman who'd hung back for some reason. Seeing Blaze turn on him, the other pilot turned around and lit his afterburners, a clear sign that he was giving up and bugging out.

The ace took a deep breath and released it, finally coming out of the almost trance-like state he'd been in ever since the battle began. Brian knew he was risking his secret, flying like he was, but he also knew that if he failed to retrieve Edge just because he'd been too cowardly to go all-out then he'd never be able to live with himself for it afterward.

The beeping in his ear was almost painful, so he began scanning the ground and looking for the speck of green on white that he knew would be down there somewhere.

"Demons of Razgriz?" Edge asked, wanting to laugh at the absurd title that the enemy had given them, but at the same time, she knew that there was a pretty cool ring to it. It looked like the name was sticking all throughout the Yuktobanian military, like Four Wings of Sand Island was sticking throughout the Osean forces.

"Yes. That was the name that our air force gave to you demons after you sank Hrimfaxi."

This was just a useless tidbit, but it could be used for propaganda later by the Osean Public Relations guys later on. She would be sure to pass on the information, along with the bit about the Yuke people getting just as weary about the war as the Oseans themselves were.

An F-22 roared past overhead, and as it banked, Edge caught the number on the nose. It was 018, written in big blocky numbers. There was also the OADF roundel on the wing. Only one pilot Edge knew of had that number on his Raptor.

She fumbled with her radio, almost dropped it, then turned it off beacon and got it on the right channel.

"Blaze!"

There was a glow in the reply.

"Edge? Is that you?" The man sounded winded, as if he'd been through some vicious dogfights on the way in, but the ecstatic relief was there was well. "Thank God! Hang on, Sea Goblin's inbound now! Chopper, Grimm, form on the Marines and give them cover. I'm gonna orbit here to keep any more Yukes from getting through."

"Roger, Kid."

Twenty minutes later, the welcome noise of a Sea Stallion filled the air and the chopper came skimming over the tree lines to their right. Edge reached into a pocket and withdrew a flare, felt around for the end, not caring if it was the smoke or fire end, and tore it open before flinging it into the snow a distance away.

"Sea Goblin confirms flare. It's her. Beginning extraction." The small clearing was just large enough for the Stallion to set down safely. As the Marine fire team inside ran out and pointed the muzzles of their M-4s at the suddenly nervous Yukes, Edge and the two other pilots inched sideways, the AK-47s still on their prisoners, backing through the stinging rotor wash until a comforting hand on her shoulder guided her inside the warm helo.

Thirty seconds later and the Stallion lifted off and turned for friendly lines.

Wardog, orbiting high above, followed, but not before Blaze caught wind of yet another mysterious transmission.

"No doubt about it. That's him."

Nothing more was said after that, but Brian knew he'd heard the voice before, but he didn't think it belonged to the Yellows. It had to be that other group from the intercept where the Yuke college had been attacked.

The Ace of Aces frowned in wonder for a moment then shrugged it off. After all, he had better things to worry about, like making sure Edge was okay.

He grinned behind his mask. They were probably going to party late into the night for this, and after the mission, he could use a shot of Weed to loosen the tense nerves that still had him wound tight.

* * *

Well that's that. Sorry for this being so damn late. There were several reasons. One I've been having trouble with the flight department at school, Two I had writer's block, and Three, my computer seems to have a worm in it and it's slowly eating away my memory, so my computer has now gone from seventy or eighty gigs of memory down to seven in less than two months. Also, if this chapter seemed kinda boring to you, it's because this is the best I could come up with while having writer's block, but the next one should be better, and the one after I'm going to work hard on to get it as close to being a gem as I can. This is the turning point. The story should start to heat up from here, so look forward to the next one! Oh, and for some of you who've been wondering about Chopper's fate in this story, I have good news! His fate is decided! Will I tell it here?

HELL NO! (Nor will I tell in a PM or email.)

Glossary:

**Immalmen: **I have no idea if I spelled that right, and I think it's not, but it's close. It's the exact opposite of the Split-S. It goes up instead of down.

**M-4:** If you have no knowledge of guns at all, think of an M-16, shrink it down to about half the size, and you're getting close. This is the weapon of choice for MPs and Security Forces personelle.

**AK-47:** This one's simple. Think of the terrorist's weapon of choice. You either come up with the RPG or this assault rifle. It's almost sixty years old and still going strong, supplying everyone from Russia's elite commando teams to the terrorists in the middle east. It's damn near impossible to jam and it works in both semi-auto and full auto.


	16. Day at the Beach

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Last time: Edge gets recovered.

This time: Fun in the sun and sand.

* * *

Edge stepped out onto the open tarmac at Sand Island with a big grin plastered across her face. Thirty yards away were three F-22s, engines still idling, though even as she watched, the pitch changed and the jets began to shut down. One by one, the canopies came up and the pilots stepped out. Chopper and Grimm were the first to hit the pavement, Chopper all but jumping out of the cockpit and not even bothering to use the ladder.

"Nagase!" He cried, running over with his arms wide and scooping her up in a platonically enthusiastic hug.

"Geeze! Down boy!" Nagase cried laughing as she was crushed against the other pilot. He plunked her back down then stood there just grinning like an idiot as Grimm came over.

"Nice to see you again, Captain Nagase," he said, also embracing her, though in a way that didn't almost break her ribs, which she appreciated, since she was bruised enough as it was. Edge blinked as Grimm's words finally registered.

"Captain?"

Archer nodded. "Yeah! We all go promoted right before the mission! Even you, Nagase!" That was when the pilot noticed the patch for Staff Sergeant standing out proudly on his uniform. The silver railroad tracks of Captain were gleaming on Copper's lapel.

"Wow! That's great!"

"I know!" Chopper said happily. "Bigger pay and bigger respect! I'm loving that!" He slung his arm around Grimm's neck. "C'mon! We gotta get a party ready to celebrate Nagase's return!"

Grimm just blinked and allowed himself to be led off as Nagase laughed lightly at his predicament.

"Enthusiastic, aren't they?" A voice asked from behind him. Edge jolted then turned. Blaze was standing behind her with a fond grin on his face at the antics of his two comrades.

"Kinda makes me tired just watching them," Kei remarked. Forrest cocked a joking eyebrow.

"And getting shot down and spending a night and most of today on the run had nothing to do with it?"

"Oh shut up," she retorted. "Like you could've done better."

"I'm not the one who got shot down," Blaze answered simply, to which Edge had no reply. Silence fell between the two aces. "Edge?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got something for you." She blinked before Blaze handed her a small velvet case. Even though she knew it wasn't, for some reason Kei desperately wanted it to be a ring. Resting in it were her Captain's bars. She took them and, with her Captain's help, pinned them on, putting her old rank into the box.

"Come on," the old Ribbon said. "Medical probably wants to take a look at you."

"Great. Just what I want, to be poked and prodded by a bunch of guys in white coats."

"Isn't that a little stereotypical?"

Kei blinked. He was talking a lot. He never spoke this much, not even during their little chat way back about Forrest's life in ISAF. "Aren't you being a little talkative?"

"Am I?"

"You've never spoken this much. You're usually so quiet." Forrest stopped and looked pensive for a moment.

"Maybe I'm just glad to have the best wingman in Osea back."

"Why not the world?"

"That goes to Mobius Squadron."

"Cheapskate." They grinned, both enjoying the reunion. Now they noticed that the two of them had arrived at the infirmary.

"I gotta go file a report with the commander. I'll be back later then we can party." Blaze clapped her on the shoulder then turned to leave.

"Brian!" He stopped and turned, wondering why she'd used his name. Next thing he knew, her arms were around his neck.

"Uh, Edge?" The ace was caught off guard, and was in a situation he was rarely in. Sure he'd flirted around with the girls and all that, but he'd never been randomly hugged by someone, especially when that person was his wingman. "Are you alright?"

She released him, and Forrest was surprised to see a light flush on her pale face. Something lurched in his gut, but he ignored it. "What? I gave Chopper and Archer hugs, why wouldn't my flight lead get one?" Edge could've kicked herself. She wanted to tell him about her newfound feelings, but for some reason the words wouldn't get out. "Consider it a thank you for coming to rescue me."

Forrest grinned. "No problem. Have fun, Nagase." He turned and left, while Nagase went into the sterile white tiled room.

* * *

The next day dawned bright. Sort of. Over Sand Island it was still darker than a black hole out since this was an early morning sortie. Four bleary eyed pilots sat around the conference table, trying valiantly (and failing) to blink away the haze that seemed to penetrate their very brain and fog them up from the inside.

"So?" Chopper asked in a voice that was raspy with sleep, "what's this about again?"

Blaze stifled a yawn, marveling at the fact that he could shoot down an entire squadron on his own, flew missions at every time of the day from when he'd been a teenager, and yet he was _still_ not a morning person. "Something about an offensive. I haven't heard much about it."

"And for good reason," said Hamilton as he and the Intel officer stepped into the room. Noting the looks on their faces he explained. "Col. Perrault is feeling a little under the weather, so he asked me to come and brief you instead." He got back on task. "This offensive has been planned in the upper levels of the Pentagon and not handed down to the troops until the commanders in the field gave their personal okays. As such, we didn't know about it until you four were heading back from the SAR mission.

"Here's the rub, though,"

"Of course," Chopper muttered under his breath, drawing a glare from Hamilton.

"Both operations want Wardog as back up. Since you two cannot be in two places at once, we have decided to use this," he held up a quarter, "to decide your mission."

"What!?" Chopper cried.

"A quarter? Sir?" Blaze asked, not quite daring to believe it. It was the oddest selection method he'd ever heard of.

"Yes, Captain Forrest, a quarter. Heads for the western front, tails is eastern." He flipped the coin to the point that it almost broke one of the florescent lights overhead. "The operational space," the quarter clattered to the table and began spinning, "will be the Jilachi Desert in central Yuktobania." The quarter came up tails. "Looks like you are going to the east front. I'll let them know you're inbound. Dismissed."

* * *

"Man! This sucks!" Chopper howled over the radio some hours later when the team crossed the coast of Yuktobania, speeding towards their target at over Mach 1. The pilot had been complaining almost continuously about the method that the base Vice Commander had used to select their mission. "I can't believe they used a damn quarter!"

"So you've said," Forrest answered, a little coolly if Nagase had to judge. To tell the truth, while she was glad to be back in the air again, she had to admit that she didn't miss Chopper's incessant whining about some detail or other. All efforts to shut the exuberant pilot up had failed.

Dismally.

Even Edge telling the team about her time behind enemy lines was only a temporary fix, but it had gotten Chopper onto another subject; Blaze's performance during the last mission. Kei had been gripped by the other pilot's tale of how her flight lead had made his Raptor dance and cavort through the sky in a graceful show that had utterly torn the opposition to shreds.

She'd been surprised to say the least when Chopper described how the other pilot had taken on a three-ship without so much as a blink then proceeded to tear them to pieces.

"How'd you do that, Captain?" She asked, not believing it. After all, only the Demon Lord and…Mobius…1 were…

It wasn't possible.

Was it?

Once again, Aunt Keiko's advice had rung clear in her head, but every time she'd replayed that conversation in her head, Nagase had begun to doubt her own convictions about Forrest _not_ being Mobius 1 or the Demon Lord more and more. Though the Demon Lord part was a little far fetched. Blaze had even admitted to being in school at the time and if he was the ace from the Belkan Conflict, then he would've been in the cockpit since high school and that would've made him some kind of child prodigy.

As fantastic as he was, Blaze just wasn't what she'd call a child prodigy. Talking with the flight lead about flight school had led Nagase to believe that Forrest was a golden arm, but still had to work at it.

That left Mobius 1, a theory that was more plausible. That meant that he would've been in his late teens to early twenties when the Continental War in Usea broke out. Forrest was the eldest of the three pilots so it wasn't that far out.

Forrest's voice jolted her. "It was just instinct." After that he'd clammed up like he used to and Chopper had begun to talk their ears off again.

'Instinct?' Edge thought, 'Yeah right. If what Chopper says is true, then that is a lot more than just instinct. Blaze, I'm gonna figure you out someday.'

Another hour or two later and the flight passed over their last waypoint and entered the combat area. Below them stretched a barren waste of loose blowing sand and rolling sand dunes. The Osean line was a twin string of black boxes, Abrams Main Battle Tanks that were waiting to roll across the line and take their targets, an oil refinery and an airfield. The only problem for the air force was that the targets were separated by a river that wound like a silver snake through the desert.

Both the tank forces were separated by the river, the plan being to take the targets then link back up into a cohesive force past the river. Wardog was in high demand on this operation. In between the oil refinery and the first Osean tank battalion was a hardened site, complete with pillboxes, AAA, and SAM sites, plus the airfield which was packed to bursting with all sorts of Close-Air-Support aircraft and a complement of fighters, all of which could be scrambled in a matter of minutes to intercept and destroy any attack force.

For the second battalion, the story was a little easier. They were to take the airfield, but early recon shots of the area had shown Yuke tanks lying in wait, and Forrest was willing to bet that the Yukes might send in some of their crazy airborne tanks, though he knew that the Osean guys would be carrying Javelins, which would punch right through. Still, despite that and the pair of A-10s that had been orbiting overhead ever since they started rolling, that battalion had wanted Wardog as well.

Blaze had wanted to keep his flight together, though he knew how much of a force multiplier and morale booster the 'Demons of Razgriz' would be, just as the Ribbon had been, which was why ISAF command had tacked him to every major mission. To deal with the dilemma, he decided to split the flight.

Chopper and Grimm, carrying JDAMs and SDBs would go after the hardened site. Edge and Forrest, with Edge carrying SDBs and Forrest carrying a full bay of AMRAAMs would head after the airfield. The plan was to take out the control tower and if any aircraft were present on the taxiways, take them out, thus jamming the runway and its eyes and ears while Forrest shot down whatever fighters got off the ground.

None among Wardog liked being spread so thin, but they really didn't have a choice. It was either split or risk losing the offensive initiative, which could bog down the battle and allow Cinigrad to fortify itself for the incoming siege.

Forrest glanced at his watch and watched the seconds hand begin to tick past sixty seconds.

"One minute to op start," he said to his flight. Earlier, they'd synchronized their watches, to maintain cohesiveness as a unit and to make their TOT in the right time. The four were actually about fifteen seconds late, but now that they were within thirty miles of their target, and the operation, like all things military, was delayed, so it all came out even.

"Roger," Chopper replied. He would take Grimm, which was his responsibility as element lead. It would've been tactically smarter to give Edge that position, but Forrest wouldn't have trusted his tail to anyone else. Nagase was good at what she did, even despite the way she'd been acting ever since she'd got back…

'Not the place for this, Brian,' the pilot reminded himself as he glanced at his watch.

"Twenty seconds at my mark…mark."

"Roger." They were being intensely professional today, probably because so much depended on their actions in this battle. If they failed to do enough to allow the Osean battalion to bust through the Yuke forces, the war would get nasty in a hurry.

"No pressure," the ace murmured. Another watch check. "Ten…mark."

"Roger."

He gave the final countdown and when he hit zero, Wardog, and the strike craft around them, split and headed for their targets, Edge and Forrest dropping back as Chopper and Grimm pulled up and left, passing over them in the blink of an eye before the other element headed for their target.

A familiar voice crackled over the aircraft headsets. "All aircraft, this is Thunderhead. Proceed to your assigned targets and engage the enemy. Ground forces are beginning to advance."

"Just once," Chopper said. "I wanna fly where that guy isn't."

"You did until a few weeks ago," Grimm remarked brightly.

"Well yeah, but man, I don't wanna face that inquiry committee either."

"Captain Davenport!" Thunderhead said sternly, making Wardog 1 smile beneath his mask. If it had been Sky Eye, the AWACS would've let it slide. He'd permitted radio chatter so long as the pilots buckled down when it was time. "How many times to I tell you to cut the chatter!"

There was a smug tone in the loud pilot's answer. "Thunderhead this is Razgriz 3, roger that."

"What did you just say?"

Blaze tuned them out at that second, because he'd caught sight of the metallic boxes that glinted below him.

He switched channels to the ground control's frequency and gave them a call. "Ground control, this is Wardog 1, we're over your position."

"This Dachshund, roger. Close Air Support's confirmed the presence of enemy tanks about five miles ahead. The A-10s made a pass and we'd like you to confirm damage."

"Stand-by." The ace rolled onto his left side and looked. Below were smoking hulks of burned out steel. The enemy tanks that'd felt the fury of the Warthog's Avenger cannon. "Wardog confirms the destruction of enemy tank column."

"Roger. Wardog, proceed to airfield and soften up whatever defenses they may have."

"Copy. Wardog will move on the airport. Let's see if we can catch 'em napping. Edge?"

"Yeah?"

"Ready?"

"Affirmative. SDBs armed and ready to go." The pair turned north, rolling out and pushing past Mach 1 in an effort to storm the field. There weren't many planes on Forrest's radar, which meant that there was a bigger chance of being spotted as the miniscule blips moved across the screen.

* * *

The radar operator in the Yuke control tower was tense. They knew that there was a pair of Osean armor columns hiding out in the desert somewhere and they were moving. Five minutes ago, the forward column of T-90s had gone silent seconds after a hurried transmission about Warthogs bearing the Osean roundel reached them. Now two F-15E Strike Eagles were sitting on the runway, ready to scramble and intercept any threat to the airfield, though every pilot and ground pounder was nervous to the point of being unable to hide it.

Something lurked, just below the radar. Four F-22 Raptors that decimated the opposition with ruthless efficiency and turned the tide of every battle. Four Raptors said to be immortal.

The Demons of Razgriz.

They were the newest super aces to take to the sky, becoming as well known as those legendary aces like the Demon Lord, the Ribbon and Yellow 13. Even the aces of Yuktobania were nervous to face them, since none had yet to return. If they were to attack, it would demoralize the troops like nothing…

The controller's thoughts were cut off and silenced forever in a fiery explosion that demolished the glass enclosed upper deck in plume of red and orange. The warning klaxons began blaring and the two Eagles began rolling, their burners lighting in twin plumes of fire, right before they became so much shrapnel as an explosion blossomed between them, the shockwave shredding them in microseconds.

* * *

Damage control crews hurried to don their equipment and move out, but three other explosions sprang up all around the base, all airbursts, one striking the radar, shredding the dish and effectively shutting down the airfield for the duration of the battle, while an explosion went off over the barracks, spraying the men on base with shrapnel, the last detonating between two C-5s sitting in the open, not destroying them outright but tearing holes in the engines.

"Hits confirmed, good job Edge."

"Thanks." Then Blaze spotted two glints coming at them from off to the left.

"Blaze, Tally ho, nine o'clock." The two Razgriz turned to meet the threat in a head on pass as the enemies grew ever larger in the canopy. The four merged and Wardog split, the two peeling off in different directions, forcing the Yukes to split as well and make the engagement two different one on one duels.

"Blaze engage."

"Edge, engaging."

As soon as they merged, both Wardog fighters had pulled hard, using the Raptor's blistering performance to get around to ID the enemies. The turning fighters showed their profiles and Forrest was able to identify them as F-15Es, like those two Edge had destroyed on the runway.

The ace rolled level and began locking up the first bandit, just as his own warning tone began to beep at him. He flicked a switch and the beeping vanished as his radar went from tracking his foe to jamming him, at which the enemy seemed to panic and Split-S, making a juvenile mistake and showing Blaze his tail.

A quick listen to the intercept comms showed just why he'd made his move.

"Razgriz! It's the Razgriz!"

The transmission ended in a peal of static as Blaze let a Sidewinder loose, turning the fleeing fighter into a fireball. A little cold-hearted maybe, but it was one less fighter to deal with in the long run.

The former Ribbon could almost hear that panicked transmission echo across the battlefield and the Yukes begin to fall apart. He grinned. This mission would either get interesting or a whole lot easier whichever came first.

* * *

Grimm followed his lead as they left Edge and Blaze to their own devices while the other two left for their own objectives. The young sergeant still wasn't happy about Forrest's decision to split the flight, since they'd hardly ever worked alone, always sticking together to maximize their firepower. Despite all its advantages, the Raptor's one weakness was that the ventral bay could only hold two bombs. SDBs had fixed this problem somewhat, but they lacked the sheer explosive potential of a JDAM.

A Viper or Eagle, by comparison, could hold a mix of the two since all the hardpoints were external. They could attach the external pylons, but Blaze hardly ever made that decision, citing that the attachments were detrimental to both performance and stealth.

Despite the limits, though, Wardog hadn't had a major problem using the high-performance fighter to complete missions. It was strange. Blaze was the one who fought the hardest, flew the fastest and splashed the most, all without seeming to think, like he was some kind of superace. The quite sergeant had caught Edge looking at the flight lead with suspicious eyes more than once, which led him to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was more to the pilot that met the eye.

"Hey, Grimm, you still with me man?" Chopper asked, his voice jolting the younger pilot from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You still there?"

"Oh, uh, yes sir."

"Well good. We're getting close to the target. Go to button three and we'll check in with the ground pounders."

"Roger."

"Hey, isn't your brother on this op?"

Grimm swallowed. They'd been so busy with the war, that he didn't even know if his elder brother, Johan Grimm, was even still alive. "If he's still alive he will be."

Chopper seemed to sense his wingman's discomfort and shut his mouth on the subject. Instead he said, "Dalmatian, this is Wardog 3, we're inbound."

"Roger Wardog 3. We're within five miles of the enemy camp. You mind telling us what you're carrying?"

"Wardog 4 has SDBs and 3 has a pair of JDAMs."

"Roger. We've got a Predator orbiting the area. Looks like there's a hardened bunker in the center of the camp. Mind putting a JDAM on it?"

"No problem. Standby." Chopper began setting up a descent as he locked onto the shelter, an office looking building that sat square in the middle of the cluster of SAMs, AAA, and pillboxes, all on top of a square plateau with a pillbox on each side.

Grimm, on the other hand, pulled up and fell back, his eyes flicking back and forth, fingers on the switches to lock up and shoot down any interloper who would dare to go after Chopper while he was on his attack run.

"Wardog 3, pickle!" The rocker pilot called as he ventral bay popped open and a single bomb dropped out, angling for the building.

There was a massive explosion of sand and fire, sending debris and glass shards everywhere, soldiers on the ground scurrying for cover.

'They look almost like ants,' Grimm thought to himself as he watched the soldiers make it into the pillboxes and watch towers.

"Wardog 4, this is Dalmatian. We've seen some Yukes running into their pillboxes. Could you drop your SDBs on them?"

"Wardog 4, roger." Grimm locked on and flew about twenty miles back before turning inbound again before locking up a pillbox and dropping an SDB, repeating the process for each of the pillboxes, setting the bombs to go off after penetration. Seconds later, four explosions rippled over the area, turning each one into just a pile of gravel.

Even before the third explosion had lit the area, the Abrams surged forward, the dark specks of an Osean battalion streaming behind them, making sure to press the advantage and overrun the area. Like a swarm of fire ants they charged up the sandy slope and overran the first pillbox and watch tower, the tanks essentially forming a rolling wall of steel, smoothbore turrets swiveling and occasionally belching a huge gout of orange flame and black smoke.

Grimm and Chopper linked back up, preparing to exit the area and rejoin Blaze and Edge where they would orbit the middle of the desert, waiting for a call to close air support, the Raptors ready to unleash a rain of lead from the cannon. That was when Grimm just happened to catch a pair of blips on the radar as well as the corresponding glints in the distance.

"Archer, tally ho, nine o'clock."

"Roger. Let's go." Both Raptors flipped onto their left sides and pulled hard, Grimm cutting underneath Chopper to come out on the pilot's left. After the turn in, they split, Chopper going high and Archer going low, forcing the Yuke pair to split as well or risk getting two very skilled aces on their tails.

The enemy pilots did something that was out of the ordinary though, and blew through the vertical bracket before breaking and going into a Thatch Weave, the aircraft using it to keep the two Wardog members at bay. If either Strike Eagle was attacked, then the wingman would reverse and shoot down the aggressor.

"Cover me Grimm," Chopper said as his burners flared to life and he dove after the trailing Eagle.

"Wait…!" But it was too late and the younger pilot went into a climbing spiral to get into position. Sure enough, when Chopper dropped onto the tail of the second Eagle, they reversed, getting the lead on Chopper's tail, whose missile warning alarm started beeping incessantly at him.

Grimm cursed, yanking hard up onto the lead's tail and getting his cannon into position. "Chopper, if we live through this, I'm going to kill you." The lead F-15E realized his plight and snap rolled into a hard Split-S, a move which Grimm mimicked, putting his thrust vectoring to work and staying on the Yuke's tail, hoping to God that Chopper was staying with the wingman.

The 15 bobbed in Grimm's HUD for a second before the Yuke ascended right as Archer dropped his nose a hair, sliding the pipper over the enemy. The sergeant didn't think, his finger squeezing on its own to send a burst of 20mm shells into the other's wing, the fuel inside catching fire before the drop tanks hanging from the wing ignited, turning the once-superb flying machine into a prickly rain of shrapnel.

The men inside had never stood a chance.

Grimm pulled into an Immelman to back up Chopper. In an effort to predict what the other pilot was planning, Archer tuned into the intercepted comms channel.

"Razgriz…Razgriz…Dammit why'd it have to be the _Razgriz_!"

An AIM-9 burned from Chopper's side bay and the fleeing Eagle vanished in a bloom of flame and flying metal.

The two rejoined then headed east toward the waypoint Blaze had set as their rejoin point, the part of the river where the winding silvery ribbon twisted off into a second branch.

"My little brother's flying up there." Grimm felt a rush of relief as his brother's voice came from nowhere, allying the fear that had been nipping at the Staff Sergeant's mind ever since the invasion, the fear that his elder brother was dead.

"Is that right, Grimm? He's in the Sand Island Squadron?"

"Yeah. Take care of yourself Hans."

He couldn't resist. The pilot keyed the mike. "Take your own advice, Johan."

The elder Grimm's laughter was a reassuring sound as they arrived at the waypoint.

"This is Thunderhead. Osean forces, status report."

"This is Dalmatian, we've passed the enemy camp thanks to the Sand Island Squadron. Now moving onto the enemy refinery and oil facilities."

"Dachshund here. We've taken the enemy's airfield. Now beginning mop up operations."

"Roger. Operation on schedule. Wardog, hold position and wait for the airport to become operational."

Part of Blaze's plan was to capture the airfield as intact as they could get it then use the surplus fuel in the facilities to refuel for the trip home.

"Blaze copy." With that, the four Raptors split again and began to run a racetrack pattern in the sky to deny any enemy air assets from reaching the troops, though it would be tough to do with only Forrest equipped for air superiority. Then again, maybe that would be all they needed.

* * *

Half an hour later and Wardog was getting close to joker fuel, the bare minimum to return to base, but hopefully they would be able to refuel here and get back to Sand Island with full tanks.

"Dachshund here. Runway's back up. Wardog, cleared into to land runway 20."

"Roger. You guys have fuel?"

"Yep. The SDBs were nowhere near the fuel farm. It's all here. We've even got a surplus of weapons."

"Cool. Thunderhead, Wardog's heading into land."

"Roger." They rejoined then turned onto a straight-in final approach. Five minutes later and they'd all touched down as one, Blaze and Edge on the left, the other two on the right. They found a taxiway and turned back onto the runway as soon as they could. Once the engines began to spool down, a team rushed forward like a NASCAR team and had fuel hoses in each Raptor and was busy replenishing any ordinance they may have spent.

Chopper and Grimm got JDAMs and Edge was stocked with AMRAAMs, a tactic that Blaze had decided on after that gut feeling of his had started to act up again. _Something_ big was going to happen and the ace hoped that it wouldn't be another superweapon.

"Wardog, clear to takeoff."

"Roger." One by one, the four Raptors lit their burners and lanced into the air.

"Thunderhead, this is Blaze. We're back on station. Any developments?"

"Neg…Wait…What the _hell!?_" The AWACS sounded both surprised and horrified. "You've gotta be kidding me! They brought a fucking _battleship!?_"

"What?" Chopper yelled. Blaze could almost see him shake his head in exasperation. "That's it, I quit. You can handle this, Kid. I'm sick of this crap."

"Thanks," Blaze said sarcastically, though unlike when he'd gone after Hrimfaxi, he didn't sound anywhere near as tense, as if sinking battleships was a routine mission. "You're the one with the JDAMs, so guess what?"

"Damn."

"You got it."

Getting the vector from AWACS, the flight headed upriver and it wasn't long before they saw the massive cigar shapes of the battleship and its cruiser escort running upstream at flank speed, the water behind them fanning out in a huge rippling wake that any aviator would've been able to see for miles.

Forrest didn't waste any time issuing his orders. "Grimm, hit the cruiser. Chopper, go after the battleship. Aim for the deck, that's usually the weakest spot on the boat. Edge, looks like there's a pair of A-10s and some anti-air equipment. We hit that."

"Roger Blaze!"

"Got it Kid!" The formation split then rolled in on their targets. Seconds after the roll, Sidewinders burned from Edge and Blaze's Raptors, shattering the 'Hogs in one shot apiece. It was a little surprising to see the tough aircraft simply go down like that, but Blaze wasn't complaining. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of the GAU-38. If it could eat tank armor for breakfast, it would only take a lucky shot to punch clean through the former Ribbon's Raptor.

Then twin explosions erupted on the cruiser and battleship, but not before the big sixteen-inch cannons on the battleship spoke as one and sent a salvo of shells toward the refinery.

"Dalmatian, heads up!" Forrest screamed into his comm., trying to warn the ground forces. "Shells from the battleship inbound!"

Discordant yells for cover and explanations came back at him, but Blaze didn't here as he lined up a SAM missile launcher in his gunsights and hit the mobile launcher hard with a hail of cannon shells, right as Edge hit her target. They turned into each other, flares and chaff dropping from the aircraft to spoof any missiles that the ships might've had hidden away then got back to altitude.

"It's still there!" Chopper moaned. "I'm so sick of this crap!"

"Aren't we all," Grimm snapped, surprising them with his icy comeback, though Chopper wasn't offended. He knew the Sergeant was just worried about his brother. "I'll take the battleship."

"Fine by me," the louder pilot said happily as he peeled off

"Grimm, pickle." The ace's last JDAM dropped from his bay and arced for the ship, which slammed in a hard rudder to try and evade, but it wasn't like the old days. The GPS system in the bomb tracked the move and the bomb slammed into the side of the hull, rocking the behemoth and tearing a huge hole in the steel, just above the armor belt.

The hole flooded as the ship rocked back to starboard and filled the hole enough to make the thing list. Grimm wasn't finished though and he went screaming into a 9g turn that had his cannon shooting through the bridge, killing whatever crew was up there.

The former Ribbon checked on Chopper and was surprised to see that the lighter ship's superstructure was already awash. All the pilots waited for a minute or two but the battleship didn't fire again and its list had increased.

"This is Blaze. Cruiser's going down and the battleship's out of commission."

"Roger. Wardog, cleared to RTB."

"This is Archer, Thunderhead, can you confirm if Johan Grimm is still alive?"

"Standby." There was a silence so thick that you could cut it, then the AWACS was back. "He says to relax, Archer. Your brother was hit by shrapnel from the blast of the salvo, but he says it's nothing to worry about."

Grimm didn't sound happy, but he acknowledged just the same as the four Raptors headed for Sand Island.

* * *

Hours later, they were on the ground and climbing out of the aircraft. Perrault was waiting for them on the tarmac.

"Forrest," he barked. "Follow me."

Wondering briefly what he'd done wrong this time, Blaze trotted after his commander with a heavy heart.

"Have a seat, Captain," The obese man snapped when they arrived at his office some minutes later.

"Sir, just what's this about?" The ace asked, giving the commander a brief once over. He certainly seemed a tad sick. His face was pallid, and his eyes bloodshot and red.

"This is about your next mission, Captain."

"Sir, we just got back. You can't give us a mission now," Blaze said calmly. He would simply pull Wardog from the mission again.

"No. The mission's not until tomorrow night, but you can start prepping now."

"Perhaps you should get to the point, sir." Forrest's voice was light, but there was an unmistakable note of command in the undertone.

"Well, the VP wants you four the perform at the baseball stadium in November City tomorrow night then stay on BARCAP afterwards."

"An airshow?"

"Right."

Blaze frowned. After the bit with the tribunal in Oured, all four pilots were less than fond of the Vice President. Performing would make the politician look like he had their support, and that was an image that Blaze didn't want. But, orders were orders.

"Yes sir."

He stood and left for the break room where Wardog was sure to be after a quick debrief.

"Blaze!" Edge was the first to notice him and she was by his side before Chopper and Archer were even out of their chairs. "What happened?"

"Yeah, why'd he call you over, Kid?"

"We've got a mission tomorrow," Blaze said, smiling when he noticed his wingmen sitting up anxiously. "It's a nice change of pace. The VP expects us in November City to put on a little airshow."

"An airshow?" Edge replied incredulously. "We're the best squadron in Osea and they have us doing _airshows_?"

"Why, Captain?" Grimm asked.

"Publicity. We're the best squadron in Osea, so they want us to fly over the stadium as a show of support for the war effort and the Vice President."

"But we don't…" Edge started.

"I know," Forrest interrupted, though not in an angry or annoyed way. He was simply stopping a redundant argument. "I know, Kei." If they thought Forrest's use of Edge's first name was strange, they didn't show it. "Still, we don't have a choice, and I think that most people know our stand with Mr. Applerouth."

The former Ribbon sat down after grabbing a Coke and he was joined by his flight, who arrayed themselves around him. Edge caught his blue eyes flick over her when she sat down right next to him as Chopper and Archer sat across from them. Blaze knew that something had changed in the way Edge looked at him, though he hadn't quite placed it yet.

"So Kid, what're we gonna do?" Chopper asked. Blaze just grinned and began outlining what he wanted to do for the show.

* * *

Sorry this took so long. School's a bitch. I've got two papers due before the semester is up. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it and I'll see you next chapter.

**Glossary**

**GAU-38:** Also known as the Avenger, this is the Warthog's gun and it's MASSIVE! The plane was literally built around the gun and shells are the size of those 16 ounce Coke bottles like you get out of vending machines and are made out of depleted uranium with High Explosive. It chews through tanks like most kids through a bag of candy.

**T-90: **Russia's newest Main Battle Tank. It's their answer to the Abrams and if it's anything like Russian guns and fighters, it's built to last.


	17. Journey Home

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Last time: Wardog gets embroiled in a desert battle, eventually disabling a battleship.

This time: Blaze preps his team for an...airshow!?

* * *

Looking back on the incident, the 'Battle of November City' as it became known in the minds of schoolchildren all over Osea, Forrest realized that he should've seen it coming. They were all alone in the skies with an enemy who had _proven_ time and again that they knew how to circumvent and avoid Osea's automatic SAM system. Later evidence would reveal that the interlopers had inside help. Blaze would berate himself for some time about not seeing it beforehand.

Wardog was a high-profile target with the Yukes and they would be alone at a high-profile event. The vice president had been blowing smoke about this speech for almost a week prior, so the enemy would've had more than enough time to plan the operation.

Still, those kinds of questions were only asked and answered after the fact. Before though, the possibility of an enemy attack was the last thing on the pilots of Wardog's minds as they sat in the break room, arguing back and forth about how they were going to pull off this airshow.

"Come on, Kid!" Chopper protested. "We're a combat squadron not the Blue Angels! This is too ornate to do without any training."

"Well," Forrest shot back, "what would you do instead?"

The other pilot made a mouth movement like a fish out of water, but he had no answer.

"I gotta agree with Chopper," Grimm said, laughing slightly at Chopper's gulping movements. "Why don't we do a bomb burst instead?"

Blaze, looking over a satellite shot of their airspace, provided by the intel guys on base, muttered indistinctly to himself, though his pilots knew that their lead wasn't bitching but running over the plan so far and the proposed addition. He grinned after another minute of muttering. "Okay, so we'll do a bomb burst after the roll. So, what do we do after? The flight'll be split so it's gonna have to be something an element can do or a single bird can do."

"How about that pass the Angels do all the time?" Edge suggested.

"Yeah!" Grimm said. Then he looked unsure. "Uh, I think that Edge and Blaze should do that. I'm not too excited about doing it myself."

"Blaze and I?" Edge asked. "Well, I did suggest it so I guess it would be alright."

"Well, we're not trying to top the Blue Angels here," Blaze pointed out. "This is just supposed to be a rally to try and garner public support. We can open it up a bit so it isn't as close." He looked at each pilot of Wardog. "Don't forget, we're a combat squadron. The Blues are specifically an exhibition squadron."

Edge looked mollified. "Well, if we open it up, then I say let's go for it."

"Alright. So Edge and I will do the pass…" Coordinating the show took the rest of the afternoon. Later that night, Forrest took his leave of the flight, letting them continue to mentally rehearse their performance. His wandering footsteps took him to the hangar where Pops was busy with his crew tuning up the four Raptors that Wardog used.

"Well, what brings you here, Captain?" Pops asked with a smile as he spotted Blaze's silhouette in the fluorescent glow of the lights overhead.

"Ah, just out for a walk," the other pilot answered as he picked up a wrench and spun it leisurely in his fingers. "Planning an airshow takes longer than I thought."

Pops laughed. "Yeah. I heard about that from Grimm when you guys took a break. I take it planning's done and over with?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, just make sure it's all recoverable. After all, you're going to be fully weighted."

"Gonna be tough to do a show and stay on station like we're supposed to."

"Maybe, but word is that they're getting a KC-10 for you guys to use right beforehand so it should be fine."

"Key word being should be."

Pops laughed again. "Yeah. You know how the military gets."

"Indeed I do."

"You drop by for a social call or do you need something?"

"I was just walking around before turning in for the night. I've got some things to finalize tomorrow and I don't know how long it'll take so I'm just gonna get an early start."

"A little fresh air before bed?"

Blaze laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

"Alright, well, g'night Kid. I'll have the birds more than ready if that's what you're worried about."

"Have I ever doubted you?" Forrest asked as he left the hangar. Pops grinned as he watched the other man's receding back. No matter what Forrest said, the other ace knew that he was checking up on the Raptors. They would be getting low and fast, doing stunts within full view of a crowd. If something went wrong with one of the planes during a maneuver then it would result in the death of one of the pilots.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and clear on Sand Island, but Forrest spent the entire morning keeping an eye on the weather at November City. So far it was clear, though the weathermen in the area were predicting a very slight chance of a light rain, something that would never inhibit the Aces of Razgriz.

Right before they were to depart, Forrest gathered his pilots for one final rehearsal of what they would be doing.

"There's one more thing," the former Mobius 1 said with a sly grin. "Edge, I want you to take the lead for this, I'll fly trail."

Edge's jaw dropped. "What? But Blaze…" she stopped when the ace brought up a calming hand.

"Just for the airshow. I'll take the lead for when we go on BARCAP, but I figured that I'd take a break and let you have the lead for this." He met her gaze with a smile. "You can handle it, right Nagase?"

The wingman looked nervous, and had Forrest been in her shoes, he would've been nervous too, but he also noticed a glint in his wingman's eyes that told him that she was eager to do it, if only to see if she could do it.

"Sure, I'll give it a shot."

With that, Edge led the way out of the ready room towards the waiting Raptors where she began talking animatedly with the airman who was in charge of the crew who maintained her particular Raptor. Usually the conversations were kept to a minimum, since the pilots usually had to get off the ground and in the air to make their TOT. Now, it was going to be a leisurely flight to November City and the stress would hopefully be kept to a minimum.

"Edge seems pumped up," Pops remarked as he helped clip Blaze into his aircraft. Forrest grinned.

"Well, I'm letting her lead the flight for the show."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think she'll do well."

Pops looked at the female pilot, who was doing her best not to grin too brightly at the prospect of her first time commanding a formation. "You sure? I mean, you'll be doing some pretty precise stuff…"

"Well, it's a routine, so there'll be only a little commanding going on, aside from some kind of cadence to make sure we're all flying together."

The elder ace shrugged. "Well, I guess I can see your point, and you're the flight lead not me, so I'll just shut up and butt out." Both men chuckled lightly as Pops handed Forrest his helmet, then stood clear as Blaze held down the switch to lower his canopy.

Wardog idled on the tarmac for a moment or two and showed no sign of going anywhere fast.

"Well Edge?" Forrest asked, his voice light as he poked fun at his wingman-turned-flight lead. "We gonna go?"

"You mean…?" He could hear the unfinished question in her voice, which was laced with nervousness and excitement.

"Yeah."

"Oh…well then, let's go!"

Only a few minutes after that, Wardog was airborne and heading for November City.

* * *

Surprisingly, just as Pops had promised, a KC-10 Extender was orbiting a few miles from November City, the pilots and crew of the tanker chatting with the Wardog pilots. It was like they were rock stars and Forrest hated every damn minute of it. Normally, they would exchange minor banter, which he had no problem with, but these guys were asking all sorts of questions that normally would be left unsaid.

"That was weird," Chopper remarked as they began their descent from their orbit with the tanker over the mountain range that formed the valley in which November sat. "Since when do they want to talk so much?"

"It's the fame," Forrest said bitterly. If they'd been on the ground, Nagase and the others would've exchanged glances. From his tone, it sounded as if their normal flight lead had been rather well known, though that was impossible. "It does things to people. Now those tanker pilots are going to fly back to base and say that they got to talk with The Four Wings of Sand Island."

"You sound like you know a lot about this kind of thing, sir," Grimm said gently as they leveled off and slowed down even further so as to be more than speeding gray streaks to the crowd below.

Brian hissed a curse to himself. He'd let out more than he'd intended on that one. "Ah, I'm just guessing here," he answered, though Edge's eyes narrowed at the reply. She thought it was too fast, which would almost suggest he was hiding something.

"Ah, whatever," Chopper said brightly. "It doesn't matter, we're over the city now!" Sure enough, the sprawling grids of city blocks and suburbs were slipping past like some kind of 3-D quilt.

"Right, tighten up," Edge commanded, almost forgetting about Blaze's slip up during the conversation. The four, flying in a diamond, moved in closer to each other until they were to the point where they were buffeting around in each other's slipstreams, though Blaze, being the slot pilot, was slightly less turbulent.

The skyscrapers of downtown loomed on the right, the glittering modern pyramids even higher than the four-ship, which was low in order to be visible to the crowd. The stadium itself was easy to pick out, a squat oval on the ground that could seat a few thousand people. The stadium was used for football and rallies like this speech. One of the end zones was unrecognizable. The tall yellow goal post had been draped with a massive Osean flag, an image which was mimicked by the two massive scoreboards at midfield, one on each side of the seats. Stitch lights moved together, apart, then together again. There was a rumor that the astronauts aboard Arkbird had been able to see them from space when the lights had been tested the night before.

"Let's begin…ready…1, 2, 3, 4!" Edge called, counting the numbers off rapidly. At each number, the four F-22s rolled ninety degrees until they had done a complete roll. When they went inverted, Forrest had risked a glance down at the stadium. The colors of the home team were orange and green, with the seats colored accordingly.

There were an awful lot of empty seats down there. Forrest estimated the stadium to be just over half full, maybe twenty-five thousand people sitting in the stands. Not a very gratifying showing. "Pull…add power…ease the pull," Edge's voice was a constant tone in the ace's headset. It was the method they were using to time the maneuvers. The Osean Blue Angels used it to time themselves. The lead's constant murmuring of what they were doing helped to get the flight synchronized. It must've worked, since the Blue Angels were considered the best flight demo team in the world.

At the top of the arc, Blaze hauled back, the flight splitting like a blossoming flower over the stadium. As he entered a dive, Forrest noticed that every face in the crowd was turned upwards, and they were clapping madly. The ace grinned beneath his mask. The crowd clearly supported their men and women in uniform even if they didn't support the war. Despite his qualms about fame and being well-known, it never failed to stir the former Mobius 1 when he saw a crowd in full support of their troops.

Then he was out of the dive and screaming out over the city, going into a gentle turn in order to come back for the high-speed pass. Forrest's left hand advanced ever so slightly, but the Raptor responded, the airspeed indicator on his HUD spooling up past three hundred, the massive downtown skyscrapers speeding at him as the ace dipped lower. They'd agreed to do the maneuver only about a few hundred feet above the stadium. Even now, Forrest could see another gray speck that as almost invisible against the tan backdrop of the mountains. That would be Edge, setting up on her end.

The speck quickly sprouted twin tails and a canopy then Edge was calling to go and the world spun onto its side as Brian slammed his stick right, the Raptor, even loaded like it was, reacting instantly, standing on its wingtip.

There was a thump as the air pressure changed, the sound of another jet filled Blaze's ears, then he was past, rolling level and going vertical, screaming straight up to link up with Edge, who relinquished her lead and fell in off his left wing. The show, for them anyway, was finished. Grimm and Chopper were linking up even now for their final pass.

As the two above watched, the other element pulled in close to one another then rolled a full rotation, with Grimm in Chopper's blind spot. This was probably even more dangerous than the high-speed pass Edge and Forrest had just completed since if one of them rolled too slow or had a problem, it wouldn't be obvious until they were both a pair of raging fireballs heading downwards.

There was no problem, though, and when the two rolled, it gave the illusion that there was only a single aircraft. The second pair finished the roll then pulled straight up as Edge and Blaze had done earlier. There was a flurry of motion in the crowd below. Clearly they were going wild, cheering as the four Raptors linked up then headed back towards downtown to being the BARCAP.

"So?" Edge asked as they began one test circuit of the stadium, "How'd I do?"

"Pretty good for your first time," Forrest replied. "Better than I did my first time in command."

"What're you talking about, Kid?" Chopper asked incredulously. "You did fine during that attack on St. Hewlett."

"Thanks Chopper," the ace answered. "That makes me feel like I'm not totally horrible."

"You do fine," Edge said, rather gently if Blaze was to judge.

"Yeah!" Grimm added brightly. "You'll get us through this war no problem!"

"Get ready," Thunderhead broke in from nowhere. "The speech is starting."

"Roger," Forrest replied. "Wardog, split and start circling."

Chopper's comm. clicked and he broke off with Grimm to fly his loop on the other side of the stadium. The BARCAP was supposed to encompass most of downtown and the stadium itself.

Thunderhead was broadcasting the VP's speech to the orbiting F-22s, though they listened with only half an ear as the man blathered on about how angry the soldiers were and how they weren't going to quit until they went to Cinigrad and 'liberated' it. Blaze scowled as he noted how warlike the Vice President was when compared with his distinctly peaceful boss.

'Now that I think about it,' Forrest thought suddenly, 'I haven't heard anything from the President since that mission with Mother Goose 1.' He scowled. 'Is there a connection here somehow?'

A new sound came over the pilot's headsets. "Singing?" Forrest asked to no one.

Chopper picked up the lyrics, singing along horribly, even though the other three knew he was a perfectly capable musician.

"This isn't rock and roll you know," Grimm said mildly.

"I know, but I'm enjoying seeing that damn VP get what's coming to him!"

Forrest got an idea. "Wardog, form up. We're making a pass on the stadium."

The others laughed as they realized what their lead had up his sleeve. By making a pass over the stadium right now, they would send the message that they approved of the singing and they would be able to pass it off as a BARCAP lap back at base, avoiding any allegations made by Perrault.

The crowd seemed to falter when the four Raptors screamed past overhead, then someone was able to figure it out and the crowd began singing even louder as acknowledgement.

Then it all went to hell.

"Five contact on radar!" Thunderhead shouted suddenly. "Inbound on your position! Wardog, intercept and engage! Protect the Vice President"

Chopper swore viciously, even as the four fighters turned onto the heading that would allow them to intercept.

The twin flights converged, Wardog beginning to approach supersonic over a bustling city that had yet to hear even a peep from the air raid sirens.

"Where're the sirens!?" Chopper demanded.

"I was just wondering that myself," Forrest muttered. Then his eyes narrowed as he lowered his visor and locked it in place. He'd checked his radar and noted that they were within range. "Blaze engage." His fingers danced and the doors on his aircraft's belly opened up. "Fox Three!" An AMRAAM dropped into the sky and sped away, gently arcing as it followed the movements of the enemy.

On his scope, Forrest watched in amazement as the blip went crazy for a few seconds, then settled out. He knew what'd happened. The bastard had dodged his shot.

"Heads up, Wardog," he called. "These guys won't be caught napping. We're gonna have a dogfight."

"Hey, no worries," Chopper said easily. "We're the Razgriz, remember? No one beats us."

"Ego Chopper," Forrest cautioned. "Getting complacent like that will get you killed every time."

Five glints appeared in Blaze's canopy. A chill surged up the ace's spine then decided to turn around and go back down, making him shudder. Something bad was going to happen on this mission, and it probably had something to do with these five foes.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Edge said worriedly.

"Me too," Forrest replied as he switched over to the intercepted comms. channel.

What he heard chilled his blood to his very marrow.

"We have clearance to engage. Splash all hostile aircraft."

"Roger, initiating attack on all hostile aircraft."

Forrest couldn't believe it. The Yellows were here. Those two lines were ones that he'd heard in his nightmares even now, years later. The voices were different, but there was no mistake.

"Oh no," he muttered as he switched back over. "Wardog, careful." He decided to tell the Yellows who they were dealing with. "Engage as a formation, no single-ship attacks." Damn that felt good. When he monitored the other frequency, he got his wish.

"Did you hear that!?" One shouted.

"Sure did."

"Colonel Kozhedub said that during his Farbanti mission didn't he!?"

"That's the rumor I heard."

"So then that lead Raptor's the…"

"Seems that way."

"Right! Engage him!"

The five Terminators ahead split in an elegant manner, though Wardog had already dissolved into its elements and was even then setting up for a strike.

"Wardog, stay sharp. These guys are the jokers that shot down those B-2s way back."

"Good!" Chopper said, though his voice was anything but light. "I owe them for that one." The mission that'd resulted with the destruction of two B-2s was a blemish on Wardog's record that none of the four pilots liked having there. Wiping out Yellow Squadron would erase that stain for them, though Forrest knew from experience that it would be easier said than done.

'And they're gunning for me specifically,' the former Ribbon thought glumly. He thought he'd left this kind of thing behind. Apparently he was wrong and he was already down an AMRAAM.

The two formations blew past each other then began circling. Wardog was at the disadvantage, since it was a four v. five, but Forrest was counting on the fact that his skill as a fighter pilot would level the playing field.

It was an egotistical thought to be sure, but it was also true. During the Continental War, he'd often been the deciding factor in the battle, like during the assaults on Stonehenge, Megalith and Farbanti. Now he had to pull out all the stops and do it again.

He expected the fight to dissolve into three one on one fights and one two on one. Somehow, that's exactly what happened, with the two Yellows coming after him.

"I hate it when I'm right," he grunted as he tightened his turn, tracers streaming past his canopy as he tried to line up on the Yellow he was pursuing. Thankfully, he was confident that he could keep the one on his tail at bay until the others managed to shoot down their own opponent.

Edge wanted to scream and cry in frustration. Her opponent in the Terminator had jinked again then snapped into a Cobra forcing an overshoot. By the time Edge had reversed, the other guy had gotten on her tail and was hounding her, her radar warning bleeping at her with tracers shooting past her aircraft every now and again as the other fighter got her in his sights.

'Damn!' she cursed as another attempt to throw off this guy failed. He was well trained and knew what he was doing, staying with her even as Nagase slowly used up every trick in the book. A quick glance told her that Grimm and Chopper weren't fairing much better. The nanosecond she watched, Grimm was forced to overshoot by his enemy, who capitalized on the Sergeant's mistake and began hounding him.

"Kid! We can't win here!" Chopper shouted, clearly annoyed and angry at his inability to do anything to turn the tables. "Thunderhead we need some freaking backup!"

The AWACS' news wasn't what any of the pilots wanted to hear. "I'm trying, but the nearest base is down."

"What!?"

"They tried to send back up but some idiot crashed on takeoff. The runway's blocked and they can't back you up. You're on your own until the…" The signal broke up and disappeared with a squeal.

"ECM!" Edge shouted. "Thunderhead! Thunderhead respond."

Sirens began to blare down below.

"Finally," Forrest muttered, jumping slightly as tracers blasted past him again. He turned into the threat behind him. "Dammit! You're annoying!" The Yellow seemed to be startled, then he pulled up hard into the vertical right as Forrest's cannon came to life, the stream of red death missing by yards. Forrest cursed again as he pulled a tight Immelman, going through a head-on pass with the first fighter who'd reversed to try for a shot at Blaze's tail. "Wardog! We have to hold these guys off until they evacuate the stadium!"

"Right, but I'm not sure we'll last that long!" Grimm answered.

"Just hold out until back up gets here!" He grunted as the ace was forced to evade another stream of tracers. Thankfully, these guys seemed to gravitate more towards individual engagement instead of the formation engagement. Otherwise the two Forrest was holding off would've jumped him together by now.

"What gets me," Edge grunted, "is that these guys are only carrying A-A weapons."

"Can't worry…Yikes…Okay he missed. We can't worry about that now!" Chopper shouted as his enemy took a shot that came uncomfortably close to ending his life.

"Well, they could be after us!" Grimm said as he blasted through a nose-low reversal to try and turn the tables again. It worked and the Sergeant went after his target more aggressively to try and prevent another turnover.

Two agonizing minutes passed, during which the pilots on both sides grew more and more exhausted from the adrenalin highs and lows and crushing g's. Still, the battle was no less fierce. Forrest was still embroiled in his two vs one engagement, though he was beginning to wish that someone from Wardog could make a single slash and dash to give him a little breathing room. His cannon hadn't been able to come to life since he hadn't been able to get his pipper on target for any appreciable length of time.

'Damn! If I could shoot down just one of these guys we'd have a chance!' But it was wishful thinking. Back up was a long way off and Thunderhead hadn't been able to clear the ECM yet. All they'd gotten from the AWACS so far was a garbled transmission in which only the word seven was distinguishable. Blaze guessed that he was referring to how long they had until reinforcements arrived.

Now he was beginning to notice that his pilots were starting to slack off a bit. Their movements were slowly becoming sloppier, giving the Yellows more of an opportunity to splash them.

"Hang in there Wardog!" Blaze called when he managed to force a brief respite. He was fighting for every inch of sky he moved through. At least, he noticed, the Vice President had gotten away. Whether that was a good thing or not was yet to be determined, but at least there would be no negative headlines about the Vice President getting shot or something. "Just hang in there."

They were outnumbered, outgunned, and had been caught totally off guard. Forrest had to hand it to these guys. They'd done their homework on where and when to attack. Wardog had been caught with their thumbs up their butts and now they were paying for it.

The ace twisted in his seat, trying to keep the two aircraft on his tail in view. The one out in front had gotten around behind him somehow and now the ace was totally on the defensive, trying to keep the lead from getting a bead and his wingman from getting a free shot in as well. Then he spotted something that made his blood run cold.

Chopper was in trouble. In his exhaustion, he'd loosened his turn, allowing his tail to get inside his turn circle and begin pulling lead.

"Chopper! Dammit, watch out!" Forrest called into the radio, hoping to jar the exhausted pilot into tightening his turn.

"I…know…Kid!" The loud pilot grunted through labored breathing. He wasn't going to make it, Forrest realized. This was it. The Yellow was close enough, pulling enough lead and probably only seconds away from firing.

"CHOPPER!" Forrest shouted as loud as he could, not caring if he blew out his squadron's ears.

A missile burned from nowhere.

The Yellow, caught off guard, barely reacted in time, pulling up, flares dropping from his belly like disturbed hornets. The missile was a heater and it got decoyed, but it still detonated, shrapnel filling the air around the climbing Terminator like sparkling needles.

There was a shower of sparks along the fighter's rear half and the left engine began smoking somewhat.

"Now!" Blaze cried. "Jink!" Chopper rolled and dove, getting out of danger as his lead began scanning for the shooter. He caught sight of a group of glints high and off his left wing. Another look came up with another group of specks to the right. They'd been caught in a pincer by an unknown third party.

Forrest jolted when he realized he hadn't been paying attention and checked his six. Thankfully, the Yellows had been startled off his tail and were hauling ass back out of the airspace, though something told Forrest that they were merely going to regroup.

The specks quickly grew into two flights of F-22s, identical to Wardog's, which pulled up to flank the four Osean Raptors after they'd reformed. One three ship with the lead slot vacant on the left and another four ship that was flying the fingertip formation like Wardog always flew on the right.

"Who're these guys!?" Chopper demanded, wheezing slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

Forrest didn't answer, since he was more focused on the symbol emblazoned on the tail of the trail F-22 next to him.

A blue ribbon twisted into a figure eight with the silhouette of a fighter passing through the top loop.

"It can't be," he breathed, his system surging like raw electricity was coursing through him. To confirm it, he looked at the nose, just below the canopy. In big black block letters was the acronym I.S.A.F

Independent States Allied Forces.

Mobius Squadron was here.

"Wardog, switch to this frequency!" Blaze snapped, hoping desperately that the top brass at ISAF had been too lazy to switch their frequencies or that Mobius Squadron was smart enough to use the ones he was familiar with. He rattled off the frequency then switched over, praying that Thunderhead was still all jammed up and didn't hear. Wardog had earned the right to know about him, but the rest of Osea hadn't.

The former Mobius 1 grinned ear to ear when a familiar voice came across the radio. It was Sky Eye, the famed AWACS that had been his eyes and ears the whole war and again during Operation Katina.

"Yellow Squadron's in retreat for now, but they haven't withdrawn. Standby for a second attack."

"Blaze!" Kei demanded the moment they switched and Sky Eye quit talking. "Just what's going on here? This is Mobius Squadron isn't it! Who are you!?"

'So she was on to me the whole time,' Forrest realized, 'otherwise she wouldn't have said that.'

"Eddie," a voice said. "Let's switch to Wardog's frequency. We need to tell them what's going on here." Apparently, the pilot hadn't noticed Edge's remark.

Forrest keyed his mike and braced himself for the onslaught. "Don't bother. This is Wardog 1. How can we help you today?"

Edward 'Eddie' Rickenbacker, also known as Mobius Two, answered almost immidiatly. "This is Mobius Two. Sorry it took us so long to get here. We had to sneak in from up north."

"Mobius Squadron?" Grimm asked and Blaze could almost hear the reverence in the younger pilot's voice. For every new generation of fighter pilot, Mobius Squadron, Yellow Squadron and the Galm Team set the standard they had to live up to. Going through pilot training after becoming a legend had shown Forrest that. The tactics the pilots used had been mercilessly dissected and analyzed. That had proven to be a boon for Forrest since it showed him his errors and allowed him to correct for them.

"Yeah," came the rough voice of Mobius Four, a gruff but good-natured man named Charles 'Chuck' Yeager. "We're Mobius Squadron."

"What're you doing here?" Forrest asked. It was phrased as an innocent question, but the men flying around him had been through hell with him and back again. There was no way they wouldn't recognize his voice, even if they didn't know it was Forrest himself. There was no doubt that Mobius 1 was demanding to know what his surrogate family was doing over Osea.

"We got word that some Erusian hardliners sent Yellow Squadron to Yuktobania to hunt down a lead on Mobius 1," Eddie answered. "We've heard that lead ourselves so we followed up on it and we've been doing black ops against the Yellows ever since."

Forrest translated in his head. The Yellows had figured out where he'd vanished to and decided to try and assassinate him. Mobius Squadron had been told where he was and deployed to keep the Yellows off his back. "Well," he said mildly, "I'm sure Mobius 1 would be grateful."

Eddie laughed. "I hope so."

"So," Chopper butted in, "are you close to finding him?"

"Well," Rickenbacker said slowly, "we do have some concrete evidence and it's gotten us closer to him than we've ever gotten before." Forrest could practically hear the laughter in the rest of Mobius Squadron's voices. Eddie was known to be a bit of a joker, kind of like Chopper without the excessive talking or music. Still, when it came to combat, the man was vicious, like an airborne junkyard dog and he'd been Forrest's first choice as Mobius Two when Yellow Thirteen and his five-ship had killed the original Mobius Squadron. _That_was a little known fact. Six of Yellow 13's sixty or seventy kills had been the original Mobius Squadron after it'd disbanded to shore up other units. The only ones who'd escaped were Forrest and his mentor, who'd retired just before the war heated up.

"Mobius Squadron, the Yellows have regrouped and are inbound again. ETA, one minute," Sky Eye said calmly.

"What're we going to do, Blaze?" Edge asked, a little coldly if Forrest had to judge. She'd probably figured out his secret by now and was more than a little pissed that he'd been lying to her for the entire time he'd known her. Add in the weird manner she'd been acting toward him lately and she probably felt rather hurt.

Forrest sat back and assessed the situation. He was on the side of superior numbers now. Yellow Squadron was probably low on fuel and one of their aircraft was damaged. Conversely, Mobius Squadron was probably getting low as well as was Wardog. In addition, Wardog was tired, exhausted from close to five minutes of crushing combat.

This battle was about to come down to skill and Forrest knew that this would be the dogfight that would end it. To do that, he needed to fly like he used to.

He had to come out of the woodwork.

"Wardog, hold back, Edge take the lead," Brian snapped out.

"What about you, Kid?" Chopper asked.

"Kid?" Yeager repeated skeptically. "Listen, you know who you're talkin' to, Boy?"

"Ease off him, Chuck," Forrest replied, "I haven't told them yet."

"Wait, you know him?" Grimm asked, "and what haven't you told us?"

Forrest didn't answer, instead pulling up and over to slide into position at the head of the three-ship with the vacant lead slot.

"Wardog, pull back," he repeated. "Cover the stadium, Mobius Five, your flight goes with them. They're tired so keep the Yellows off them."

"Right," replied Mobius Five, another intense pilot by the name of Giora 'Hawkeye' Epstein.

"What about us?" asked Mobius Three, named Zivi 'Z' Nedivi.

"We," Forrest answered, "engage the enemy. Sky Eye, ETA on Yellow Squadron?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Roger. Mobius Squadron, splash them!"

"Roger that!" Eddie said happily.

"Kid!" Chopper protested. "Tell me what's going on!"

Brian Forrest ignored him, instead broadcasting the call he never thought he'd get to say again:

"Mobius 1…engaging!"

* * *

PLEASE DON'T KILL ME FOR THE CLIFFHANGER! I enjoy living, thank you very much. Anyway, I don't have much to say except that I'm going back to school tomorrow (or today depending on the timezone you live in), so expect my updates to slow down, again. Also, thank you for everyone who supplied me with names or ideas for the Mobius pilots. With the exception of Brian Forrest, who is an OC of mine, all the Mobius pilots will be named after famous aces, aviation figures, or pilots who were involved in wierd accidents. They'll be explained in the glossary and the rest of the pilots will be introduced next chapter. It goes without saying that I don't own their names. I'm just paying tribute to some great men and fantastic pilots. **IF YOU SUBMITTED A NAME TO ME AND I DIDN'T GIVE YOU CREDIT, PM ME AND I'LL FIX IT!!**

**Glossary**

**Black ops: **Super secret operations. It's what the Rangers, Delta Force, SEALS, etc. get involved with. Razgriz Squadron is considered a black ops squadron.

**BARCAP: **Barrier Combat Air Patrol. Exactly what it sounds like. It's designed to be a buffer zone against hostile attack. Usually associated with a carrier battle group. If you fly the Sand Island attack mission right in Ace 5, Edge actually mentions establishing a BARCAP.

**Col. Kazhedub: **Believe it or not, this guy is actually a real person. I'm not sure of his rank, but Ivan Kazhedub was a Russian ace during WWII. For the record, I have nothing against Russia, but Ace Combat frequently uses Russian names for their pilots, so I carried that over into Ultimate Ace.

**Edward "Eddie" Rickenbacker:** This man is the US's Ace of Aces from WWI. This guy's resume is impressive too, from fighter ace to racecar driver, so much so that I'm not going to go in depth here.

**Chuck Yeager: **A man who needs no introduction, General Yeager is the first man to break the sound barrier way back in the day. He's also an ace from WWII where he flew P-51 Mustangs.

**Zivi Nedivi: **I'm not sure how well known he is, but this Isreali man is probably best described as the real life Solo Wing Pixy. During a training exercise, Nedivi's Eagle was hit in a mid-air. Most of the wing was sheared off, but due to the lifting power of the Eagle because of its other surfaces and brute strength, Nedivi was able to get his wounded aircraft back to base in one piece and LAND it safely. And no his callsign isn't Z. I made that up. **Special Thanks to NeoSpearBlade for giving me the name.**

**Giora Epstien: **Another Israel pilot, this man is the highest-scoring jet ace ever with seventeen kills to his credit. I know that doesn't seem like much, but in a world where dogfights are rare, that's quite the accomplishment. He was a Colonel until he retired and his nickname really is Hawkeye because of his phenomenal eyesight.


	18. Consequences

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Last time: Forrest's secret is blown to high heaven.

This time: The results of the aforementioned blowing.

* * *

"Wardog, pull back," he repeated. "Cover the stadium, Mobius Five, your flight goes with them. They're tired so keep the Yellows off them."

"Right," replied Mobius Five, another intense pilot by the name of Giora 'Hawkeye' Epstein.

"What about us?" asked Mobius Three, named Zivi 'Z' Nedivi.

"We," Forrest answered, "engage the enemy. Sky Eye, ETA on Yellow Squadron?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Roger. Mobius Squadron, splash them!"

"Roger that!" Eddie said happily.

"Kid!" Chopper protested. "Tell me what's going on!"

Brian Forrest ignored him, instead broadcasting the call he never thought he'd get to say again. "Mobius 1…engaging!"

* * *

Silence fell over the radio as that simple message radiated out over the airwaves. Then Edge, Chopper and Archer all broke out into babble, asking so many things at once that they stumbled over each other on the radio, forcing Forrest to yell at them to shut up and clear the comm. so he could engage Yellow Squadron.

Then, with no signal from Mobius 1 whatsoever, the first four ship of Mobius Squadron diverged and lined up for combat. Then the battle was joined, all nine aircraft blowing through the merge and beginning to maneuver against one another.

Soon it developed into a mirror image of the prior dogfight with Forrest trailing one, having another on his tail and the rest of the squadron engaged in one on one fights. However, there was one difference. The Terminator with the bad engine had unwisely decided to fly back with his comrades instead of bugging out like any other pilot would do.

'He's either brave or stupid or both,' Edge thought to herself as she watched the thin black trail of smoke wend its way over the sky, hotly hounded and pursued by Forrest, who was having no trouble in keeping up with the injured plane but unable to line up a steady shot on account of the guy behind him. "Someone needs to shoot that Yellow off his tail! Edge engaging!"

"Wardog Two, Sky Eye here. Until Thunderhead is back in control, follow all orders from Forrest and myself. Wardog flight is to stay with Mobius Five and the others until further orders."

"Hey you jerk!" Chopper yelled. "We don't have to listen to you! We're Osean! You're from ISAF! You can's just butt in and tell us 'Hey, follow me now'!"

"Then listen to me," Brian said with a small grunt. "Do as he says and stay with Hawkeye and the others. The four of us out here will be enough."

"And why would we listen to a liar?" Edge asked coolly.

Forrest's reply was just as icy. "Stow it Edge. This is neither the time nor the place. You can yell at me all you want when we get back to Sand Island, but for now, just _stay put_!" Surprised, Edge fell silent.

"Worried?" asked the wingman for Mobius Five, Mobius Six, a pilot named Manfred 'Ricky' von Richthofen. He had an accent that seemed to speak of an aristocratic upbringing. "You shouldn't be…Captain Nagase is it?"

"Yes," the pilot in question bit out.

"As I was saying, don't be worried about Boss. He's Mobius 1 for a reason and he once fought all five of these guys with no help from us as I'm sure you know."

"Who's Boss?" Archer asked.

"That's the TAC name we gave Brian when we officially formed for the attack on Megalith," answered Mobius 7, named Arthur 'Roy' Brown. He had a light and friendly tone, as if he was the elite squadron's parallel to Grimm. "We couldn't come up with anything and he's never seen Forrest Gump so…" he trailed off as if shrugging.

"Just went with the obvious huh?" asked Chopper.

"Something like that," Roy answered with a light chuckle.

"Still," Grimm said to no one as he watched the battle raging in the sky before them, "it's something. Who would've guessed that Brian was really Mobius 1 all this time."

"But why'd he leave?" Chopper asked. "I mean, the Kid had it made in the ISAF Air Force, so why'd he come and join up with Osea."

"Couldn't tell you," said Hawkeye. "One day out of the blue he came into our lounge, said he was resigning and that Eddie was in charge. We took a photo then he left. We didn't hear from him since until just a few months ago when you guys went and were invaded by Yuktobania. We happened to be watching the TV at the time and we saw you four taking out that crazy submarine. That's when we recognized your lead's flying style."

"That doesn't explain why the Yellow Squadron showed up," said Edge, forgetting her anger at her lead for the moment and letting her curiosity at the situation rise.

"Well, we think they keyed in on it when we did and began negotiations with Yuktobania in order to sneak in and axe your flight and get revenge for the Continental War." The flight lead chuckled. "Well, we still have some boots on the ground in Erusia and they picked up on it and transmitted the information back to North Point. That was when they dispatched us here on a black ops mission to keep the Yellows away from the Boss and his unit."

"So after your done with the Yellows, you're going back to ISAF?"

"Not yet. While we've been on the missions, we've run into some jokers calling themselves the Grabacr and Ofnir fighter squadrons. They've tangled with us a few times, so we think they're in league with the Yellows, which means that if the Yellows are shot down, there's a good chance that these other two groups will take their place."

Meanwhile, Blaze, or rather Mobius 1, was embroiled in the furball with his flight. He wasn't tense, though, rather he was confident, fighting aggressively, taking risks, and knowing that if anything went wrong, Mobius had his back.

His missile alarm beeped at him and he rolled into a Split-S, discharging only two flares. They were released at just the right time, around when his exhaust wasn't facing the enemy, and the missile blasted past overhead as Forrest held the maneuver and came back up on the second guy's tail. Not having any time to think, he squeezed the trigger of his cannons.

The river of red death spewed into the air and, by sheer luck, shattered the Terminator's right wing in a hail of 20mm high-explosive rounds. The sudden loss of a wing put the Yellow into a death spiral, the smoking wreckage spiraling toward the city. Forrest felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he could've just caused a family's death, much as Yellow Thirteen had done to that boy during the war.

The Yellow exploded in midair as the fire reached what fuel was left and turned it into a hail of silvery metal shards.

'Well, at least he didn't kill anyone and now the odds are even again.'

"Mobius 1, splash one!"

He didn't hear the whoops of his squadronmates nor the shocked remarks from his flight. All he could see was the injured Yellow in front of him.

The Yellow pitched vertical and began stalling.

"Not this time," Forrest grunted as he slammed into a 9-g turn that looped him back out behind the plane then put him right on the pilot's tail again, out far enough to set up for a shot.

The Yellow leveled off and began flying again, not doing any maneuvers. Clearly the pilot thought that he'd tricked the ace into overshooting. Forrest couldn't resist. He pulled up, gained some altitude then rolled on his back and dove. The pipper slid over the target and again red tracers scorched the skies and the Yellow blew up instantly, Mobius 1 streaking past in a flash of gray, fragments from the plane pattering and skittering across his Raptor's skin.

"Mobius 1, splash another!"

"Way to go Mobius 1!" Sky Eye crowed. "Three planes left! All engaged aircraft, press the attack!"

Mobius Squadron did just that and soon the Yellows were entirely on the defensive as their rival squadron began to fly as they hadn't flown since Forrest's departure from the unit.

All of the aces supported and covered each other in a seamless display of teamwork. Mobius 2 split from his target and went racing after the Yellow that was beginning to outturn Mobius 4.

Mobius 1 swept in on the abandoned target's tail and began hounding him relentlessly, keeping the engagement swung toward the ISAF.

Mobius 3 went vertical then inverted, diving on the Yellow of Mobius 4, red cannon tracers shooting from the Raptor, scaring the pilot into a better position as Rickenbacker reversed and began going after the abandoned aircraft.

Chopper whistled. "Damn. Look at the Kid go! I've never seen him fly like that!" It was true. Even as the loud pilot spoke, a Sidewinder burned from the lead's aircraft, streaking across space and narrowly missing the Yellow as the pilot tightened his turn and dropped flares, spoofing the missile.

The Yellow Yeager was going after put his nose at the two flights hanging back. A small speck dropped off its wing and headed right at them.

"Missile!" shouted Mobius 8, a pilot named Robin 'Robby' Olds and Mobius 5 through 8 all split in a beautiful separation, flares and chaff dropping like a swarm of metallic and red bees.

Wardog wasn't nearly as ready.

"Break! Break!" Edge shouted, feeling her heart tighten in her chest. Blaze had trusted her with the well being of their flight and now she was freezing up. How Forrest managed to stay so calm and collected during battle was beyond her. Of course, being the premier ace in the modern world had something to do with it she was sure, but still he was only human.

Edge and Grimm broke off, releasing countermeasures, but Chopper, when he tried, realized the missile was locked on to him, despite the hail of spoofing mechanisms in the air.

"It's on me!" he shouted into his radio, feeling adrenalin spike his system like a nail through a block of wood.

"Chopper!" It was Forrest.

"Kid?"

"Listen to me. Fly at the missile, roll over it and drop three flares."

"Are you…"

"Do it!!"

The missile was only a few seconds out. The world seemed to slow down for the loud pilot as he rolled level, lit his burners and screamed headlong at the missile. Something inside him told him that now was the time and he pulled up hard, rolled onto his back, three bright flares dropping from his plane's belly, then dropped in behind the missile, which wasn't able to compensate for the sudden maneuver and the appearance of so many tantalizing targets.

The enemy attack homed in on one of the heat sources and detonated.

"Hell yeah!" shouted Chopper when the missile hit the flare. "I owe you Kid!"

Forrest didn't answer, since he was still embroiled in a duel with the Yellow, but both Mobius Squadron and Wardog knew that his answer would've been either don't mention it or that he'd put it on Chopper's tab.

"Way to go!" called Brown in Mobius 7. "Boss really holds you guys in high standards doesn't he?"

"What do you mean?" asked Grimm.

"You don't know? Until now, the Boss is the only one who's managed to pull off that maneuver without getting killed."

A shock ran through the flight. Had Blaze deliberately tried to kill Chopper? Every instinct screamed no, but still, that was before they'd found out he'd been lying about his identity to them the entire time they'd known him.

"Blaze," Edge asked in a low voice. It wasn't a snarl but it was still close. "Did you just try to kill Chopper?"

Forrest grunted as he reversed after the enemy plane then answered. "What the hell are you talking about Edge? I wouldn't do that. I told him to do it because with you guys flying every which way, that was the only direction that was safe."

He did have a point. The pell-mell separation of eight aircraft did close off many of the escape routes and if Chopper had turned tail, then he would've died for sure. Blaze had known that but he'd had faith that his pilots could pull it off. Chopper had been tested harshly in those scant seconds and had risen to the challenge magnificently.

"Oh!" One of the pilots of the Yellows gasped as Yeager's target burst into a fireball and became nothing but a falling nose section and canopy. There was a burst of flame in the canopy and a black object was thrown clear into the dusk skies. "Jean-Louis is hit!"

"Forget this!" the other remaining ace called. "They're too good! Gene, let's bug out. We can come back and finish this some other time." The two Yellows went into very easy, non-threatening turns and began to fly away. Mobius Squadron let them go. Hardly any aircraft that tangled with them lived to tell about it, but those that either avoided them or left the fight tended to live to fly another day.

The other three flights regrouped, Blaze linking up with Wardog this time.

"That's it for us," said Rickenbacker. "We're gonna RTB, but I'm sure that we'll be around."

"Thanks for the help Eddie," Forrest said with heartfelt sincerity. "We would've been screwed without you guys."

"No problem, Brian," Mobius 2 said as the seven Mobius aircraft pulled into one massive formation and began to exit the combat area. "See you around."

"Mobius 1, Sky Eye."

"Yeah?"

"I've been watching your other AWACS transmissions. He's back and he's close to frantic about not being able to find you."

"Roger that. We'll get him calmed down."

"Alright." There was a peal of static then the controller, a legend in his own right as Mobius' eyes and ears, was gone.

The four Osean planes switched back to their own frequency.

"Thunderhead to Wardog! Respond! Edge, Chopper, Archer, Blaze please respond."

"Awww. Didn't know you cared, Thunderhead." Chopper said brightly.

"Wha…Where've you guys been! Five Terminators showed up then they began blinking off the radar and the only one engaging I saw was Blaze!"

At first Forrest wondered how he'd missed the Raptors from Mobius, but then he realized that they would've been hidden. Forrest had IFF which meant that he still would've shown up. It was a new development from Osea. The IFF system would change it's frequency every couple of milliseconds and only Osean aircraft with the proper equipment could track them, which meant that Forrest had been visible to Thunderhead but not the Mobius Raptors. It was a measure to make sure Osea didn't try to kill its own stealths.

"Well, we had to protect the VP," Forrest said, inventing fast to hide his identity. "I went out to engage and the rest hung back as a second line of defense."

"What would you've done if they'd been a match for you!?"

"Well, they weren't, so can we go home now?"

"Uh…sure. Wardog, RTB."

"Roger. Wardog returning to base."

The four Osean Raptors looped around to the proper heading and began their return.

* * *

It was late when they got back and Forrest, after the debrief, managed to ditch the other members of his flight and go to sleep. The next day they had off, so he was playing Frisbee with Kirk on the ramp when he heard footsteps.

He turned after picking up the Frisbee the black lab had returned with a furiously wagging tail.

In front of him were Chopper, Edge, and Archer, all of whom looked rather solemn, though Edge's face had more anger in it than seriousness.

"Well," Forrest said awkwardly. "I guess it's time to come clean huh?"

"You better have a good excuse for this." Edge snarled. "We…I…We trusted you with our lives only to find out you're lying to us? What happened to the 'teamwork and be honest' stuff you spout off sometimes?" It was clear she was getting angrier by the second.

"Calm down Edge," the ISAF ace said gently. "I had my own reasons for leaving ISAF and coming here."

"And those were?" Grimm asked, sounding rather curious.

"I was fed up with fame."

"Wait," Chopper said, surprised. "That's it? You left the best damn squadron in the world to come here just because you didn't like the fame?"

"Kinda silly right?" Blaze said with a laugh, "but you'd do it too if you had everyone and their brother hounding you twenty four seven. That's what it was like for me. Senators, movie stars, kids at airshows, other units, all of them were coming after me relentlessly. It got to the point that I couldn't go outside without getting mobbed."

"Still doesn't explain why you left," Edge said, though the heat had left her voice and she seemed to coming around to his case a bit more.

Kirk whined and nuzzled Forrest's hand. The pilot grinned and hurled the disc in his grip, the blue disk spinning out over the indigo ocean, Kirk hot on its trail, barking madly the entire time.

"Look, I'm a pilot, not a rock star. I just wanted to fly and do what I loved. They kept getting in the way."

"You're a hero!" Grimm said.

"No!" Forrest's reply was vehement. "I'm not a hero. The hero's are the guys who didn't make it back. Everyone killed in battle by Stonehenge, Megalith and the Erusian troops, those are the real heros. I'm just a pilot who happens to have some skill and got lucky."

"Forrest!" It was Pops. He came over and looked at the other three. "I heard you had an interesting battle the other day."

"Yellow, Pops!" Chopper said excitedly. "We got to tangle with the Yellows."

"Really? Too bad Mobius 1 wasn't there."

"Drop it Pops," Brian said with a sigh. "They know."

The old mechanic looked stunned. "How?"

"Well, let's just say my old squadron decided to pay their lead a visit."

"Mobius Squadron is in Osea?"

"Yeah, trying to keep the Yellows from killing me. Hey Pops, you wouldn't happen to know who the Yellows are in league with do you? I mean, no one in Osea except the really high higher-ups, you and me knew I was here."

"Wait, you knew about the Kid?" Chopper asked.

"Yeah. I went on vacation in ISAF once and just happened to see a documentary on the good Captain here. Then you all arrived for Bartlett's Boot Camp and there was Mobius 1 in the crowd." The old mechanic chuckled. "Couldn't believe my eyes!"

"So, you've all been keeping secrets from us, huh?" Edge said, sounding hurt.

"Pops found out about me by mistake and, for what it's worth," Forrest replied, "you all do know me."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Grimm.

"I mean, I haven't acted any differently than I did with Mobius Squadron," he explained, "except you didn't know about my past." He grinned. "Well, now you do and let me tell you it's a load off my chest."

"What do you mean by that?" Chopper asked.

Forrest got a dangerous glint in his eye. "Well, now it means I don't have to hold back when I fly." Grimm and Chopper laughed and headed away with Pops, but Edge and Forrest hung back.

"Edge, I'm sorry I had to hide things from you," Forrest started, wondering what to say next. How do you just apologize for lying to someone for almost a year and a half? "It's just…dammit I don't know. It's just that I'm a pilot and I just wanted to fly with no obligations or worries about fame."

"You didn't have to hide it from us," replied Nagase and to her lead, she sounded a little stuffed up in the nose.

"Yes I did." He hurried to explain at Edge's heated look. "Look, if I'd come straight out and said 'I'm Mobius 1' during our first few engagements, would you have treated me the same as you do now?"

Edge opened her mouth to say yes but then stopped and shook her head. "No. All I would've seen is Mobius 1 and not the pilot behind it."

"Exactly. That's why I hid it from you, so all of you could learn about the real me, seen the man behind the callsign, then, after I was comfortable with it, I would've come clean."

"How long would that've taken?"

Forrest shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I was just scared that no matter how tight we got as a squadron, you all would've just seen the legend and not me. Now I can see differently and that I should've come clean a long time ago. So, I'm sorry."

Edge sniffed a little, but she knew that Forrest was sincere in his apology. In away, knowing exactly who he was showed just how much trust he had in them as friends and squadron mates since this was a secret that could upend his life because if word got out, reporters would be packing into Sand Island in next to no time. "It's alright," she said finally. "Now I know why you're as good as you are."

"Hey, don't sell yourselves short," Forrest replied. "You three aren't too bad either. This may not matter, but if we were still in ISAF, I would have no qualms about inducting all of you into Mobius Squadron."

"Really?" Edge was surprised. He really thought they were that good? He really thought they could fly with the best of the best and keep up? Coming from the world's best ace himself, that meant something.

"Sure. You guys have proven that you can handle it."

"So why didn't you let us engage the Yellows?"

"Because you three were tired and rattled."

"So were you."

"Yeah, but I was also holding off two Yellows at once."

"You're also the world's leading ace!" Edge protested. Forrest just laughed and followed after Chopper and Archer. It wasn't until they were all in bed that Forrest realized that Pops had avoided his question.

* * *

That night, with a mission lined up for the following morning, the Four Wings of Sand Island were all sitting in Forrest's room, looking through all the memorabilia in his trunk.

"So, these are the guys who saved us?" Grimm asked as he looked at the signed picture of Forrest and Mobius Squadron.

Forrest nodded, sitting on the bunk across from the young Sergeant. "Yep. Eddie Rickenbacker, Zivi Nedivi, Chuck Yeager, Giora Epstein, Ricky Richthofen, Roy Brown and Robby Olds. That's Mobius Squadron."

"So, what were they like?" Edge asked, looking at the photo over Grimm's shoulder.

"Like any other fighter pilot, except they were…better. That's the only way I can describe it."

"Who taught them?"

Forrest scratched the back of his neck. "I really can't answer that. Some came from ISAF's ROTC program, others just enlisted, but I do know Zivi had a good teacher."

"Who?" Chopper asked.

Blaze grinned. "Larry Foulke."

The reactions of the other three were priceless. Each pilot was staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You're kidding." Edge said, stunned.

"Nope. I had a board with the first Mobius 1 to pick my squadron only a few hours after the capitulation of Farbanti. Z came in, handed me his credentials and just waited. When we asked about any previous experience with flight, he came right out and said that Larry Foulke had been his IP."

"Wow," Archer marveled. "He must be brilliant if he was taught by Solo Wing Pixy himself."

"Oh he's good alright. They all are. I picked fifty pilots from the applicants then took them all up for a practical lesson."

"What was that?" Edge asked, though by her smile, Forrest knew she already knew the answer.

"A dogfight. One on one, me vs. them. If they could last thirty seconds against me, then they were in."

"And ISAF allowed that?" Chopper asked. The OADF would never allow something like that, but from what Forrest had said so far, the OADF and ISAF were worlds apart when it came to regulations. The ISAF air force was more of a formalized militia. They were disciplined and trained, but most of the pilots had civilian jobs. The OADF had mostly active duty personnel who made the military their career. That translated to a more loosely based structure within ISAF.

Forrest nodded in response to Chopper's question. "Oh yeah, it's allowed. Besides," he held up his fingers and ticked off the points, "the request came from Mobius 1. I _was_ a Major General at the time _and_ I passed it off as a training exercise that would be filmed for training future classes of pilots."

"What happened after?" Grimm asked finally as they managed to quit laughing at how badly Forrest had played his military's system.

"Well, when all was said and done, I had my squadron and ISAF had a new promotional video."

"Hey! I remember that!" said Chopper suddenly. "I went to the San Salvacion airshow once with my dad and we saw that movie in the ISAF's recruiting van! That's why I joined the OADF when I did."

"Lucky bastard," Brian said jokingly. "I've always wanted to go to that air show but I never get to."

"Why? You're Mobius 1 aren't you? Wouldn't ISAF want you at every airshow?"

"They did send me there," Forrest admitted. "But it was always for demonstrations, never for the static displays."

"So how long did they last?" Grimm prodded.

"Each of them lasted a minute."

There was another round of stunned looks. All the pilots from Osea had known that Mobius Squadron was tough, but to last a minute against their lead? That was downright amazing, considering dogfights lasted only seconds anyway. Even thirty seconds was pushing it.

Forrest glanced at the clock. "Well, as fun as this is, we have a mission tomorrow and I think we'd better get some sleep."

"Dunno Kid." Chopper replied. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep after all that's happened lately." Still, the pilots filed out of their lead's room and returned to their own.

Forrest lay back on his bed, clicked off the light and set his alarm. 'That actually didn't go too bad,' he admitted. 'I really should've told them earlier.' Then he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

In a dark corner of the base Captain Hamilton was on a secure cell phone with his superiors.

"So, the attempt on Wardog's life failed," said the voice of the Gray Man at the end of the line.

"Yes sir. It appears that Mobius 1's skills haven't atrophied in the time he's been flying with his current squadron."

"Do they have a mission soon?"

"Tomorrow sir."

"Excellent. I'll get Grabacr on the line. Where will they be headed?"

"Cruik Fortress."

"That's even better. Get them a tanker to which they will be escorted by the 8492nd squadron. Then over the mountain range on the way back, eliminate them." There was a click and Hamilton had the dial tone. He shut the phone off and went to work.

* * *

Soon Wardog would be dead and the Oseans and filthy Yukes would see the power of Belka.

The day dawned bright and clear. The Four Wings of Sand Island were up even before the sun was, lugging their tired bodies into the briefing room. Then they were filled in on the situation at Cruik, told their TOT and hurried on their way.

"Back to the usual grind," Chopper had remarked glumly when they'd been told about the deep mission they would be flying. It would even require a mid-air refueling to get them within range of the target.

"The only good thing I can say about this is that if we penetrate Cruik, it's only a stone's throw away to Cinigrad." Archer replied.

"Yeah, but have you seen the satellite shots of the place?" Forrest asked. He'd told his team only to mention he was Mobius 1 among themselves and around Pops. Otherwise, he would've had a lot of explaining to do. Not to mention he'd have to move to Ustio or Estovakia. Now he would fly as Blaze not the Ribbon.

"No I haven't."

"Well, it's not going to be an easy fight, even for us. They're grouping everything out there. Armored battalions, infantry, supply lines, aircraft and airborne troops, everything is being lined up for the assault." It was true. The Yuke military was in full on retreat from the on rushing Osean army, with some token resistance thrown in along the way. It was a ruse, Blaze knew, to delay and bog down the enemy while the ultimate defense of the capital was prepared.

The Whiskey Corridor had been much the same thing. The Erusians had dug in and held on long enough for the final preparations to be put up in Farbanti. Truthfully, if the ISAF air force hadn't found and shot down the Ospreys with the command staff on them, the battle wouldn't have ended when it did. Once the V-22s were gone, the Erusians had no chain of command to follow and had dissolved into chaos while the ISAF military had marched right in and taken over.

This battle had an odd parallel to that very battle. It was the last line of defense and had withstood two different assaults by the Oseans within the last five days. If they were delayed any more, the Yukes would build up enough manpower to defend the capital or begin an outright counterattack and push all the way to Oured.

Such a thing was the worst nightmare of the Osean higher-ups and so that was why they'd tasked Wardog with the air support for this mission. In conjunction with the A-10s and AC-130s that were attached to the divisions on the ground, Wardog was to provide top cover and achieve air superiority over the Coliseum, as it was known, and keep the enemy fighters from hounding the Oseans as they pushed on through.

Up and over a rise, the circular fortress came into view. It was nestled in a bowl of mountains, with great pillboxes that could be fortresses in their own right arrayed on the sides. There was only one road into the bowl and that was covered by pillboxes. A massive steel door was barring the entrance to Cruik and in the middle of the place, set up on a bridge of some kind, was the dark stripe of the runway. The battle was already underway. A headwind had been responsible for delaying Wardog and, try as he might, Forrest had just been unable to find a tailwind somewhere and make up the time.

Even as they swooped over the battle, Forrest watched as a Warthog was hit with an AMRAAM from one of the base Gripens. The tough plane wobbled, almost spun out of control, then managed to pull out and limp from the battlefield.

"Thunderhead to Wardog, provide top cover for the Close Air Support."

"Roger. Okay Wardog, time to dive into the fireworks!"

With that, the four-ship splintered, rolled inverted and pulled into a dive.

* * *

Well, that's that. The other three know about Blaze, and that should make the story more interesting now. Chopper also lived. Some of you will be happy and some won't but wait until the later chapters. It'll become clear later on... So, anyone catch the two little ironies that I put in here? No? Well, Zivi Nedivi, as I explained last chapter, is the basis behind much of Solo Wing Pixy. I just thought it'd be kinda funny to have Pixy teach the guy he's based off of. The last one will be explained now.

**Glossary**

**Manfred von Richthofen: **AKA The Red Baron. Known for his massive kill count in WWI and for his brilliantly red Fokker Triplane. He died before the war's end but who killed him is the subject of much contention, even today. He was either shot by a lucky ground pounder or by...

**Arthur 'Roy' Brown: **This is the man who's historically given credit for killing the Red Baron. Yes he really was also known as Roy.

**Robin Olds:** An American Ace from WWII. Flew P-38s and later the F-4. The mastermind behind Operation Bolo during Vietnam and probably the source of March Mustache in the Air Force.


	19. Run for Your Life

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Last time: Wardog deals with the revelation that Blaze is really Mobius 1

This time: The Assault on Cruik

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE WHO LOST THIER LIVES ON 9-11-2001!**

* * *

"Thunderhead to Wardog, provide top cover for the Close Air Support."

"Roger. Okay Wardog, time to dive into the fireworks!"

With that, the four-ship splintered, rolled inverted and pulled into a dive.

* * *

As Wardog dove on The Colloseum, flak and AA fire rippled up at them, turning the sky black and red with puffs of explosions and tracer rounds.

"Stay sharp and let 'em have it," Forrest ordered as he rolled upright, jinked and swerved, trying to throw off the enemy gunners, if only for the few seconds he needed to strafe the runway.

"Copy," Chopper replied brightly. He seemed almost happy to be back on the battlefield, but something had changed in him. Blaze could see it in his wingman's eyes when the two made eye contact. That brush with death over November City had shown the loud ace that war was not something to be taken lightly. Not that Chopper didn't take it lightly, but he would lose sight of it every now and again and usually almost died as a result.

'That won't happen to him again,' Forrest thought as he lined up a pair of taxiing Flankers in his sights. His cannon roared to life, the tracers ripping holes in the asphalt of the taxiway, sparkling over the Flankers and then he was past, blowing skyward again, coming close to collecting grass stains on his belly as he cleared the shallow ridge of the mountain behind the hangars.

Blue eyes narrowed as the ace surveyed the forces arrayed on the other side of the walls.

"Wardog 1 to Thunderhead. Give the ground forces the heads up that the enemy has a pretty tough set up on the other side of the walls here. Looks like a fair number of tanks supported by infantry and pillboxes."

"Roger. I'll let the ground forces know. Mudslinger, move in and see what you can do about the tanks."

"Copy, Mudslinger moving in."

The A-10s that had previously been harassing the tanks inside the circular fortress pulled up and away, blew over the wall and then the barrel that protruded from the shark's mouth on the Warthog's mouth came to life, spewing depleted uranium rounds that were as long and wide as Forrest's forearm.

Smoke and sparks burst over the T-90s that were lying in wait, tearing through the armor and disabling the Main Battle Tanks or destroying them outright. The A-10s clawed for altitude, splitting away from each other so the enemy gunners wouldn't be able to get a lock on both Thunderbolts at once, then they were turning inbound again.

From each Mudslinger dropped a single white canister. The canister broke open and small black dots spewed from it like fire ants from a destroyed anthill. Small explosions lit both slopes of the small valley from which the road from Cruik issued. The A-10s came off target and went soaring back over the main battlefield, their job of lightening the potential threat done.

Forrest's alarm started beeping at him. He twisted in his seat an managed to spot the Terminator that was glued to him, the Yuke pilot trying to get lead on Blaze and shred him with a cannon shot.

"Blaze is spiked! Wardog, someone help him!" Thunderhead shouted.

"Relax, Thunderhead," Chopper said easily, coming off his own run on the airfield and watching as his lead rolled out of the break turn he'd been in and pulled straight up, the Terminator hot on him. "Kid can handle himself."

"But-"

Blaze crested his climb and dove straight down. Every eye on the battlefield seemed to watch the seemingly suicidal flight lead as he hurtled straight down at the ground. The Terminator decided that Forrest would splash himself and pulled out, banking away.

Then Blaze pulled a Mobius 1 style move.

He leveled off, a mere fifty feet up, blew underneath the supports that held up the runway and blasted into a turn the moment he was through, spotting the other pilot in a second and rolling in on his tail. By the time the enemy realized that his prey had become the hunter, Forrest's cannon had strobed and the Terminator shattered, dissolving into metal fragments and an expanding fireball.

"Wow!" One of the Osean groundpouders called, having a front row seat when Forrest had screamed past and almost left him deaf. "Who'd we get for top cover?"

"It's the Four Wings of Sand Island!"

"Really? Shit then, let's get moving! We can't let these guys have come all the way for nothing!"

"Let's go!"

The realization that the Razgriz were the top cover bolstered the Osean's morale and within minutes their assault had intensified, forcing the Yukes back and inching ever closer towards the gate.

Between Mudslinger and Wardog, the AA was soon limited to the point to where the heavy support could come in and within minutes, an AC-130 and two Comanche gunships were on site, adding their blistering firepower to that of the other aircraft. The AC-130's howitzer cannon belched a long flame and plume of smoke, the round arcing through the sky and slamming into one of the bunkers that ringed Cruik. The explosion lit the interior, smoke pouring from the slot that allowed the artillery crew to fire.

Again and again the airborne artillery piece fired, each round dead on target, taking out the bunkers one after another. Once it finished that task, the gunship took on an even steeper firing angle and the Bushmaster gun mounted on the side came to life, spewing rounds down on the heads of the retreating Yukes, drawing a line of small explosions right down their line.

As the Specter curved away, Forrest and Edge rolled in and made two fast passes, running opposite each other to keep the enemy's heads down, then the AC-130 was back and the Bushmaster was back in action. Within minutes, a hole had been punched in the enemy's resistance and the Osean battalion surged forward, stopping only when it reached the heavy, black, steel door that was the only exit from Cruik.

This time, all the heavy artillery was brought to bare, the AC-130's howitzer spitting another few heavy shells at the same time Mudslinger's GAU-38's opened up and the Warthogs let loose with a pair of Mavericks apiece. A hole wide enough to fire through was ripped in the thick metal and the Osean Abrams fired through it, providing cover as the infantry ran through one squad at a time.

Wardog and Mudslinger rolled in again, their cannons firing until they were empty and the Specter also getting into the act, gutting the Yuke resistance on the other side until the enemy was forced back again under the withering fire.

Finally the enemy disengaged and began an all out retreat as Osea withdrew back into the fortress and set to work fortifying it for their own use and also getting rid of the damaged door so the tanks would be able to advance through.

"Wardog, this is Dalmatian," came a familiar voice over the radio. It was the air controller from the battalion that had coordinated with Chopper and Archer during the Jilachi Desert campaign.

"Go ahead, Dalmatian," Blaze answered.

"Just wanted to pass along a message from the boys down here." There was a moment of silence then the discordant cheers of a victorious Osean Army came over the headset. When the ace looked down, he saw a group of men standing near an Abrams, all waving madly into the sky and cheering like there was no tomorrow.

"_Salute the Four Wings of Sand Island!"_

"_We couldn't have done it without you guys!"_

"_Keep up the good work!"_

The compliments just came pouring in as the Yuktobanian flag was lowered from Cruik's pole and the Osean colors were raised up, the circle of stars against the blue and white background rippling proudly in the sunlight.

Wardog loosened their formation in response to the accolades and did a set of victory rolls over the defeated 'Invincible' Coliseum. When that was done, the formation tightened up again and the four-ship aimed their noses towards friendly lines to head home.

* * *

"Well that was a nice way to spend the day," Chopper said some hours later as the four arrived over a mountain range where they would be guided to a tanker.

"You don't sound too happy sir," Archer said with a small laugh.

"Hey man, I'm starting to get sick of this constant fighting! It seems like the war's bogging down and that it's never gonna end!"

"Keep you chin up," Forrest said bracingly. "This operation was Yuktobania's last stand. Now the road to their capital lies open and all we have to do is hope that this momentum lasts long enough for us to take Cinigrad."

"Che, easy for you to say!"

Forrest didn't respond right away since a new voice came over the radio.

"Wardog Squadron, this is the 8492nd. We're supposed to escort you heros to the tanker."

"An escort?" Edge murmured. "That's odd, they've never given us an escort before."

"Relax Nagase," Chopper said, sounding like he really didn't care whether they had an escort or not. "It just means that the brass are finally recognizing how awesome we are!"

"Ego, Davenport," Blaze said, though it was clear by his voice that he was smiling at the loud pilot's antics. "8492, this is Wardog 1, thanks for the cover."

"No problem, now let's get you guys gassed up. Follow us." A flight of advanced F-15s came into view. Personally, Forrest thought that the experimental Eagles were ugly. They had boxy nozzles and canards that were just kind of tacked on to the aircraft, but the ace knew that the demonstration plane had been instrumental in smoothing out the chinks in thrust vectoring, allowing the aircraft he rode in now to be fully realized and developed.

The other squadron pulled away and Blaze frowned at the move. It was unusual for one for them to have an escort and for two, if they were to be escorted, then why was the escort pulling…

Forrest's missile warning alarm starting screaming at him and the ace's blood ran cold when he saw the contrails of AMRAAMs heading right at them.

"_Wardog, break!_" He screamed into the radio, ramming his throttle into full afterburner and heading right at the barrage. At the last possible second, he rolled onto his back and pulled down, dropping bundles of chaff as he did. With the sudden multitude of targets and the stealth possessed by the Raptor, the AMRAAMs lost their lock and detonated harmlessly.

Forrest rolled level and pulled up, merging with the enemy, who had turned around and was starting to dogfight with them.

"8492, 8492, this is Wardog Leader, disengage immidiatly, you're firing on allies!" As he broadcast the call, his blue eyes flashed around, spotting each member of Wardog in turn and sighed with relief that they'd all made it. Though that might change, seeing as they each had two bandits on their tails all at once. "Thunderhead this is Blaze," the ace called as he tried to dislodge the two on his own tail. There was nothing but static. "Thunderhead respond! Thunderhead! Dammit. Wardog, switch frequencies. Go to ISAF's and let's hope Sky Eye is in the neighborhood."

With a deft flick of the wrist, he was on his old squadron's channel. "Sky Eye this is Mobius 1, do you copy? Sky Eye?" Forrest's heart stood still as he wrenched the Raptor around into another turn and waited to see if his old AWACS was listening. Then against all odds, the voice he didn't think he'd hear came back at him.

"Mobius 1 this is Sky Eye, what's going on? Why the sudden call?"

"Listen…" then he rattled off what'd happened and Wardog's current situation, "and we could really use some reinforcements here! You copy that?"

"Roger. Standby."

"Make it quick!" Mobius 1 growled as he pulled up and rolled, then jinked left then right, throwing his F-22 around the sky, using every maneuver he could think of to throw off the enemies on his tail, but nothing worked. The other pilots were skilled and though their grip on his butt was made ever more tenuous with every reversal, they stayed with him. "Wardog, status?"

"Could use some help here," Chopper grunted.

"Hang in there, Sky Eye's working on it."

"Mobius 1, this is Sky Eye…"

"Finally!" Chopper murmured.

"I have bad news, Mobius Squadron is nowhere near your vicinity and I can't scramble them in time to get over to you."

"Dammit!"

"But I do have a way out. Drop below two thousand feet to terrain mask."

"Two thousand feet?" Chopper shouted. "Are you nuts? That's in those mountains!"

"Drop below two thousand feet," the AWACS repeated, a touch of annoyance in his tone, "Then I'll initiate ECM and try to cover your trail."

Forrest didn't even answer, shoving his stick and rudders viciously. The Raptor responded, snap rolling into a dive that happened so fast that the enemy on his tail lost track of where the ace went.

In seconds he was in the mountains and screaming away, trying to evade the 8492nd that were still hounding them. Not too long afterward, Edge, Archer and Chopper all formed up on his wing.

"Go!"

"Initiating ECM."

Forrest monitored the Osean channel for a moment just to confirm.

"Hey! What the hell's going on, where'd this ECM come from!?"

"Is it that Thunderhead guy?"

"Can't be 'cause _we're_ jamming _him_!"

"Then what…"

Blaze switched back over. He'd heard enough. They were safely away.

"Thanks Sky Eye. You did it."

"Glad to hear it."

"What were you doing up here anyway? I was expecting not to get anything."

"We decided after that little incident in November City that I would sortie any time you guys did."

"And how'd you know when we were going up?"

"Some friends," the AWACS answered evasively. "Now, how about a vector out of there?"

"That would be nice, thanks."

"Right. Take 270 to the west and stay in terrain mask until you're out of the mountains."

"Roger. See you later."

"Right."

They switched to the Osean frequency again.

"Wardog this is Thunderhead! Do you read me? Wardog!"

"Calm down man," Chopper sighed. "We're still here."

"Thank God! When I lost contact and you were attacked, I thought you were goners for sure!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Forrest said dryly. "We made it out fine. Listen, take this up through the chain. There's a fake squadron running around Osea that goes by the designation 8492. I think they may be the ones who bombed that Yuke college town way back."

The AWACS was silent then came on. "Roger. I'll get on it. Take your current course direct to Sand Island. I'll call ahead and let them know it's you and not a Yuke attack force."

"Wilco. Let's hurry back to base."

"You said it Kid. Man, what the hell's going on with this war?"

"I wish I knew Chopper. I really wish I knew."

* * *

Meanwhile, Hamilton was fuming behind one of the hangars, on his cell phone with his superiors in Belka.

"So, the attack by the Grabacr failed?"

"It seems like it sir."

"The reason being?"

"I think Mobius Squadron had something to do with it. Ashley reported ECM interference from an outside source after Wardog ducked into the terrain mask."

"Those damn Ribbons again," the voice hissed. "First that blasted Yellow Squadron can't do them in and now that infernal AWACS Sky Eye helped out his lead again."

"So what's our next course of action?" Hamilton asked. "If Wardog continues to survive, then the Osean army will make it into Cinigrad, if only through the psychological boost the Razgriz give them."

"It appears that we'll have to take more direct measures. Use the contingency plan we discussed."

"Expose The Raven and convince Perrault that Wardog is in fact an enemy spy unit…Right, I'll get on it."

"Correct. With any luck, we'll kill two birds with one stone." There was a click and the line went dead. Stashing the device in his pocket, Hamilton turned and marched away, heels clicking with new purpose.

* * *

"We can't go to the Colonel. You know he won't listen to us!" Edge said angrily as the four landed back at base later that night.

"Too right he won't," Chopper added. "What do we do Kid?"

"How about Captain Hamilton?" Grimm suggested.

"Yeah, good idea," Forrest agreed. "Okay, Chopper, Archer, you two go to Pops and tell him what happened. Edge and I'll go to Hamilton." The Raptors stopped at their parking spaces and shut down and the four pilots clambered out and assembled in front of Blaze's fighter. "Okay, let's get going. I have a bad feeling about this so stay on your toes."

"Right."

The four pilots split and went to spread the word about the 8492nd Squadron.

"Edge, wait," Forrest said suddenly. They were passing the meager arms locker that Sand Island kept for its Security Forces personnel. "I have an idea."

"I hate it when you say that," she muttered as Nagase watched her lead duck into the room and return a few minutes later with a pair of nine millimeters and three clips apiece. "What's this for?"

"Insurance," the ISAF ace responded grimly as he slammed a clip home and racked the slide then slipped the weapon into a pocket and the spare clip into his calf pocket. Edge did likewise and the two ran off down the hall.

"Brian, is all this really necessary? I mean, we're going to see Capt. Hamilton, not fight of a Yuke invasion!"

"Kei, listen, this is bigger than any of us. I'm not taking chances."

"It just seems kina crazy!" She protested.

"I'm sure it is and if I'm paranoid about this, I'll go see a shrink later. C'mon, we better go tell Hamilton."

They arrived at his office and knocked at the door.

"Enter."

They did and Edge was instantly alert. The room lights were off with only the scant moonlight filtering through the Venetian blinds. Hamilton was an indistinct shadow against them.

"Welcome, Captain Forrest, Captain Nagase," he said reaching up towards a desk lamp. Forrest managed to keep his hand from twitching toward his gun. Something wasn't right here, as if the dark office wasn't hint enough.

The lamp clicked on and nearly dazzled both pilots. Hamilton was visible from the shoulders down and something was off about him, but neither ace could place it.

"I was just thinking of calling your squadron down here, Captain," the officer said calmly, steepling his fingers on top of the desk.

"Oh? Why's that sir?" Forrest asked, managing to keep his voice light. Hamilton leaned forward a hair and Blaze jolted when he realized what was off about Hamilton's uniform.

There was a gold oak leaf on his collar instead of the twin silver bars.

"Sir, your rank…"

"Yes. I just received it actually."

"Congratulations, didn't realize you were up for promotion."

"Oh, actually I got it for exposing an enemy spy element here at Sand Island." Hamilton reached for something in his desk but Blaze and Edge had their guns on him before he could get it all the way out.

"So, you're with them," Forrest snarled, wanting desperately to pull the trigger.

"That's correct, Captain," Hamilton replied, placing the gun on his desk in a show of surrender.

Muted gunfire sounded from down the hall.

"Blaze!"

"I know I heard it. What was that Hamilton?"

"Dunno," the other man said coolly. "Why don't you tell me…General!"

Forrest's eyes darkened. "So you know about me."

"Yes though I didn't find out until your splendid performance over November City."

"That would mean you're with the Gray Men that Pops told me about."

"I think that's all for now. How about we…" He never got to finish. Edge lunged at him and hit the officer hard in the face. His head snapped back and he slumped forward out cold with a nosebleed.

Forrest whistled. "Damn Edge. Nice one."

"That felt good," she said with a grin.

Forrest smiled too, but the moment was shattered when the alert sirens started up. "C'mon. We gotta get out of here."

"Where can we go? This is Sand _Island_ after all!"

"We'll figure something out. Now let's go!" Edge nodded and the two pilots sprinted from Major Hamilton's office, knowing that each second lost was another second closer to capture.

They burst out of the main admin building's back door and sprinted to the bushes that lined the back of it, dividing the sea from the base. Forrest leapt over the hedge as if it was a mole hill and dropped flat then began crawling his way along the bushes toward the hangars. It was clear that they had to get off the island now and since there was no port, it stood to reason that the jets in the hangar were the only viable option out.

Forrest hissed as his knee scraped across a jagged rock. "Dammit!" he cursed in a whisper. "Haven't done stuff like this since basic."

"You're not kidding," Edge murmured behind him as they wormed their way along the coast. Both stopped at a shuffling noise then they heard whispers.

"Shit! How did this happen?" A voice asked.

"Dunno, but we've gotta find them soon." Edge and Blaze froze and Nagase mouthed the word 'Security?' at Blaze who shrugged in return. They reached for their pistols, but stopped short when a third, familiar, voice joined them.

"Any luck?"

"No. Looks like the Kid and Edge got away."

"To right we did," Forrest called softly, standing upright.

Pops, Grimm, Chopper and Gennette all jumped.

"Kid!"

"Shhhh! Keep the voice down!" Forrest hissed at his wingman, who gulped then nodded. "Pops, we've gotta go, they think we're…"

"Spies. I already know. Perrault already tried to shoot us," the elder ace said as they crept into the shadows between the hangars as searchlights snapped on and began weaving their way over the ramp and runways. The fleeing members of Wardog hunkered down to wait. "So. Now what?"

"We should wait until the search lets up," Gennette suggested.

"Can't," Forrest said quickly. "The Security Forces here will catch us the moment the sun comes up." He turned to Grimm. "Archer, go check the Raptors. See if we can make a way in." The Sergeant nodded and slipped away.

"I'm going with him!" Chopper said then went after the other pilot before the others could stop him.

"You sure it's wise to let him go like that?" Gennette asked skeptically. "I mean the guy isn't exactly stealthy."

"Maybe not," Forrest agreed, "but it'll keep him busy and he's pretty good in a pinch."

"But why us?" Edge asked.

The reporter in the group had the answer. "It's because you guys are the main pillar of morale for the entire Osean military."

"Makes sense," Blaze agreed, ducking as the searchlight swept across them. "The army won't be as motivated as they could be if we were there."

"And now you know something you were better off not knowing," Pops finished. "Brian, any chance of getting off a call to Mobius Squadron?"

Ignoring Gennette's stunned look, Forrest shook his head. "No. From what it sounds like, they've been operating from a base up north somewhere. There's no way in hell they could make it this far south. Not in time to give us any appreciable back up."

A rush of clomping boots met their ears and they turned to see Grimm and Chopper return as if they'd sprinted the distance at a dead run.

"It's no good!" Grimm gasped out. "They've seized all our planes in the hangars!"

"Shit!" Edge murmured.

Pops thought for a minute then looked up. "Hangar C in the rear should be pretty open."

The four pilots looked at the elder ace like he was nuts. "The Hawks?" Grimm asked like he thought Pops was nuts.

"We'd never make it to anywhere with those!" Chopper added.

"I'd don't like it either," Forrest broke in, "but we don't have much of a choice. I say we go for it."

Wardog made it to the hangar with little effort. Sure enough, the only person guarding the entrance to the hangar was a lone sentry who wasn't even looking their way.

Pops opened the side door, which slid open soundlessly thanks to a liberal oiling by the maintenance crews. Inside were four twin-seat Hawks, generally used by the base as a replacement for one of the Tigers when a trainee screwed one up really bad.

"Gennette, you take the seat behind me," Pops said calmly as he clambered up the ladder and began running a check over the systems inside the cockpit. Forrest, Edge and Grimm all ran to one of the fighters and plopped into the front seats, switching on systems and bringing the jet to life. There was no time for a preflight.

"Hey!" Chopper protested. "What about me!"

"Oops," Forrest said with a grin. He was feeling giddy because it looked like they might actually pull this off. "Guess you stay behind Chopper," but he gestured and the loud ace shot up the ladder and plopped down into the seat behind the ISAF ace.

"Not funny Kid," said the backseat pilot as the canopy came down.

"Ah sorry. Couldn't help it."

They grabbed the helmets that had been sitting on the seats and pulled them on before starting the engine. Forrest sorely missed the dual whine of a Raptor and the tiny Hawk felt ancient and underpowered with its round dials and single engine.

The sentry turned at the noise of the jets starting, and even got off a few rounds, but he missed as he dodged to one side to avoid being bowled over by the taxiing fighters as they raced for the runway.

Forrest was little nervous as he made the turn onto the runway. He'd taken the turn a little faster than he'd meant to and the Hawk had almost slammed its right wing into the ground. But he'd managed to avoid it and slammed his throttle to full, the tiny trainer speeding down the runway and lifting into the air, though his chest felt hollow without the comforting kick of the afterburners.

"So long Sand Island," Blaze muttered softly as he turned his jet north and gained altitude.

* * *

The four Hawks sped north all night, keeping a nervous eye on their fuel gauges. It wouldn't do to have made that escape then run out of fuel. All during the night, Forrest had made attempt after attempt to get in contact with Sky Eye or Mobius Squadron, but all he'd received was a stifling silence on the radio. About halfway through, he'd let Chopper take the stick while the ISAF ace caught some shuteye, but it seemed that as soon as his eyes closed, Chopper was shouting at him to wake up.

"Kid! We've got those 8492 jerks on our tail!"

The ace jolted awake and seized the controls, blinking as the sun stabbed him in the eyes. "My plane, Chopper."

"Sure thing. I'm not gonna try and out fly those guys."

"This is Thunderhead, I have the targets on screen."

Forrest almost answered the AWACS, but then he remembered that the controller was no longer a friend, but was now a foe.

"This is the 8492nd Squadron. Roger. We'll splash them real soon."

"Copy. Are those guys really traitors?"

"Yeah."

Forrest tuned the conversation out, making another call for Sky Eye.

"Mobius 1 to Sky Eye, do you hear me?" He waited a few seconds, but there was nothing but static. "Sky Eye, please respond."

"I can't understand how you can be so damn calm, Kid," Chopper said as the comm. gurgled again.

"Force of habit. Mobius 1 to Mobius 2…Eddie you there? Eddie!" Again, nothing. "Mobius 1 to Mobius 5, respond. Giora, do you hear me?" Finally he gave up. "Looks like they won't be giving us back up."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Pops said. He sounded like he was about to pull something and he was sure it would work. "Follow me, I have an idea." The four Hawks rolled and dove for a small island that lay below them, a chink of emerald against a sapphire sea.

"Pops, what the hell are we doing?" Chopper asked as he watched the island below grow larger and larger in the canopy.

"You'll see soon enough."

Blaze's radar winked out and the ace understood. "I get it now."

"What?" Grimm asked. "What's going on?"

"It's a volcanic island," Pops said. "Which means there's an intense magnetic field all around it. Their radar's out too, so now let's get out of here." They leveled off just a few hundred feet up and sped for a line of wind turbine generators.

"That flying style! That's the Colonel isn't it!"

"Colonel? _The_ Colonel, the one they called Huckebein the Raven during the last war?"

"Yeah."

"That you Ashley?" Pops answered. "I kept hearing the name 8492 and was wondering what the heck it was. When you guys started calling yourselves the Grabacr fighter squadron in the last war, I got sick of flying in the same sky!"

"Kid, Pops is a super ace too?" Chopper asked. "Did you know?"

"Yeah. He told me the same time he told me that he knew who I was. I've heard of him, but he never made it to the same level as we have." Now they were weaving in and out of the windmills, the tall white machines flashing past at over two hundred knots. Blaze was forced to use almost all his skill as a single misstep would result in either a windmill in the face or a missile up the ass.

They soared low over a rise and into view came an aircraft graveyard. Aircraft of all sizes and shapes were littering the ground beneath them, silent sentinels to a bygone age. Forrest noted early versions of the Hornet, Eagle, Tomcat, and Viper with some newer ones clustered here and there. Older cargo planes like the C-130A and others were clumped together on the other side of the graveyard.

"Wow," Edge remarked, voicing all of Wardog's thoughts.

"Yeah, this is where I come to get replacement wires and control surfaces and things like that, things that are interchangeable on all the models," Pops told them as they headed between two towering mountains and dipped low into a valley, flying single file, Forrest right behind Pops followed by Edge and Archer. The valley twisted and turned and Blaze sincerely hoped that the Grabacr fighters had lost sight of them, otherwise they were sitting ducks, which was only a slight downgrade from running ducks.

Over the next half-hour, Wardog wound its way north over the island, their missile alerts occasionally beeping at them, but when the pilots looked, there was no way that the 8492 would be able to get the shot, since Wardog twisted away a moment later, following the valleys that crisscrossed the island.

Then they came across the end of the valley. The only way to pass was to go around, which would get them shot down, or go through the cave that was gaping in the wall ahead, and there was not telling if it let out the other side or not.

"Hold on," Pops called. "We're diving into the cave up ahead."

"What!?" Chopper shouted. "My plane Kid, I'm not taking that kind of risk!"

"Sorry Chopper," Blaze replied. "But I'm willing to."

"Wha-!? You're crazy!" The loud ace's reply came too late as the cave closed over them like Godzilla's mouth. Inside it was pitch black, except for the light glinting off the slimy rocks. The cave took a hairpin turn then and Forrest was convinced that he left some paint on that rock wall as he came dangerously close to crashing. The moment they cleared the cave, the flight hung a hard left and was on their way.

Chopper released the breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Kid," he said, "if you ever do that again, I'm gonna kill you."

"Well you better kill me now," Forrest quipped, "'cause it looks like Pops found another cave." This one, though, was man made and the former Mobius 1 almost put a crane's boom through the canopy as the massive machine loomed off his right wing for a split second. Inside the winding corridors, the sound of the jet engines echoed loudly as the four Hawks streaked low over the ground, climbing and diving to avoid the girders that held the roof.

"I hate this," Chopper muttered over and over as the beams flashed past. "I hate this."

"How do you think I felt when I had to fly inside Megalith?" Forrest asked, trying to stay loose, trying to see everything so he would be able to react. "Now _that_ was scary!"

Another storage facility later and the island ended and the blue sky stretched before them, to which Wardog gratefully rose.

There was no sign of Grabacr.

"Hey! We're seeing the traitors on the scope again!" Thunderhead called, apparently surprised. Chopper keyed the mike and blew the AWACS a raspberry. When the Sentry spoke again, the anger was clear in his voice. "Swordsman, cleared to engage."

A familiar voice came over the comm.

"Roger. Attacking the hostiles."

A glint appeared in the windscreen and morphed into the ONDF F-14, which blasted past, wings at full sweep, leaving two sonic booms in his wake. He looped around behind them and began shadowing them.

"Shit, we're screwed!" Chopper moaned.

"He's not really our enemy," Pops replied cryptically.

"Hey!" Grimm shouted. "Morse Code!"

Indeed it was. There was a small LED flashing at them and Archer translated for them. "Trust…me…bail…out! He wants us to punch out?"

"Let's trust him then," Pops said. "Gennette, you first." From the lead Hawk, a plume of fire filled the sky as two black ejection seats were thrown into the sky. A Sidewinder slammed into the Hawk a second later.

"Swordsman to Thunderhead, Splash One."

"Roger. Kill confirmed."

Blaze had to keep from laughing at the simplicity of the plan. Edge and Grimm ejected soon after, their Hawks sharing the same fate as Pop's.

"Our turn," Chopper remarked. There was an explosion and a wind began flogging Forrest's face. There was a whoosh and Chopper was gone.

"Geeze," Blaze remarked as he reached up and yanked down on the two half-moon handles above his seat. "Never thought I'd have to do this."

He pulled.

Before he could register what'd happened, his Hawk had been shot down and he was floating in the parachute.

"That's the last of them," Swordsman said.

"Roger. Confirmed splash on Wardog."

"Looks like they sank with their planes."

"Roger. Swordsman, return to base."

"You'd better give me a medal for this," the officer warned.

Blaze hit the water and scrambled out of his harness before he could get tangled and drown. He swam to the surface and gasped for air, swimming to his life raft that sat bobbing a few yards away on the gentle seas. After he was in, he spent the next few hours until the chopping noise of rotor blades filled the air.

Soon, two Sea Stallions appeared over their heads.

"This is Sea Goblin, no sign of life rafts."

"Roger. I confirm Wardog as KIA. Return to base."

"Right." Even as the pilot was speaking, a basket and frogman were being lowered to Forrest.

"Time to get you to your new home," the frogman remarked as he helped Forrest into the basket while Sea Goblin's second chopper went after Pops and the rest.

"Can't wait," the downed pilot remarked as he clambered aboard.

* * *

One loud chopper ride north and the sun was setting as the Sea Stallion arrived at its home base.

Below, sitting like a queen on her throne, was the OFS Kestrel, the same carrier that had escaped from St. Hewlett and survived the Scinfaxi's burst attack seemingly a lifetime ago. Her battle group was in dock and sitting next to the group was an airfield with three hangars and no control tower but did have a collection of other buildings.

Forrest stepped out of the musty helo and inhaled a breath of frigid sea air. He was an Air Force pilot, but every pilot in the ISAF air force was required to be carrier qualified and to keep that qualification current to allow for maximum flexibility during wartime. That was how Forrest was able to take part in every major operation because he and his X-02 were always aboard a carrier or at a Forward Air Base.

Captain Anderson, the man in charge aboard the Kestrel, met them.

The four Wardog pilots saluted.

"Permission to come aboard sir!" Forrest barked.

"Granted," The older man said with a grin. "Welcome to the Kestrel!"

"Thank you sir," Forrest replied, "but are you sure we should be here?"

"Positive, after all, the good Colonel over there arranged for you to be brought here. The Kestrel is the perfect hiding spot because we have no air wing anymore. No one wants a carrier with no aircraft, so we've just been sitting idle." The Captain looked over the still-damp pilots. "Well, lets get you cleaned up and dried off."

He led them down a gangplank and into the collection of buildings, which turned out to be barracks and limited recreation facilities. They were passing a lounge when a voice stopped them.

"Hey! You finally got your lazy ass here!"

A figure in the lounge stood up and when they saw who it was, Forrest grinned widely.

"Eddie!"

* * *

Well that's that. Surprised that Mobius showed up again? Heheheh. If you feel it's random, just wait. I'm gonna explain this and a few other loose ends in the story later next chapter. So, until then, see you later!

**Glossary**

**ONDF: **Osean Naval Defense Force.

**OFS: **Osean Federation Ship


	20. Razgriz Rising

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Last Time: Wardog Squadron gets betrayed by Maj. Hamilton. Upon escaping Grabacr, Forrest and the others get a surprise when they run into Eddie from Mobius Squadron at their new home.

This time: The Presidents rescue.

* * *

The Mobius pilot grinned brightly as he came out from behind the couch he'd been sitting on and walked over to the damp pilots. The man fit the fighter pilot mold, tall, lanky, with an easygoing grin, as if he was always laughing at his own jokes with intelligent brown eyes and light brown hair. The Wardog pilots noted the rank on the man's flight suit.

A single black star was stitched to the olive drab cloth.

The Wardog pilots were at attention in the blink of an eye, with the exception of their flight lead.

"Good evening sir!" Edge bit out.

Eddie looked taken aback. "Uh, Boss?" he asked. "What're they doing?"

Forrest laughed. "Sorry guys," he said to Wardog. "You don't have to stand on ceremony with Mobius Squadron."

"Got that right," a new voice said from behind them. It was Chuck, a black bird adorning his shoulders. The insignia for Colonel. "We're laid back 'cause if we observed rank all the time the way it's supposed to be done, we'd never get anything done." The pilot was shorter than Eddie, who was pushing the limits of the height restrictions at six feet three inches, but only by a little. He had brown eyes and black hair and was clearly the eldest of all the Mobius pilots with his craggy features and beginnings of crow's feet around his eyes. Edge estimated him to be in his mid-thirties. In his thirties and still one of the deadliest aces alive, the Wardog pilots made note to never underestimate this guy.

"Sweet! The Boss is here!"

It was Roy Brown. He looked really youthful, though he was really around Forrest's age, who was one of the youngest pilots in Mobius Squadron ironically, and he fit the mold so far. Around as tall as Forrest himself, the pilot had fair sandy hair and the same color eyes as the other Mobius pilots. He had a black bird on his shoulder as well.

Manny Richthofen was standing right beside him. The two were inseparable both in the air and on the ground. "Well, it appears our guests have arrive," the other ace remarked with his proper accent. He had brilliant blond hair and laughing blue eyes. Like everyone except Eddie and Forrest, he wore a full-bird Colonel insignia. "Welcome to our humble abode."

"Heh, you mean ice box," Yeager muttered roughly, though he had a light smirk on.

It didn't take long to figure out why the Mobius pilots didn't stand on ceremony with each other. There was no one below full Colonel. Forrest, as the ranking officer of Mobius Squadron, was a Major General. Eddie, as Squadron Vice Commander, was a Brigadier, along with the second flight's lead, Giora Epstein, who was also a one star General. The other pilots were all Colonels, with Yeager being the one with the most seniority

It really showed why the Squadron was the most elite in ISAF, and one of the most decorated. What surprised Edge was the diversity of the pilots. Forrest hadn't cared about appearance or gender when he'd picked his squadron, though all the Ribbons were male. Apparently a female fighter pilot was almost unheard of in ISAF simply because there was no interest. Hawkeye and Z were both men who looked like they would've been right at home in the desert with their heavy eyebrows, tanned skin, slightly hawkish features and dark curly hair. Both of them were as nice as could be, though, with easy grins and a ready laugh. Robby Olds didn't look anything like Edge thought he would, with his buzzed red hair and brilliant green eyes.

Chopper had asked the man about it and he'd laughed it off.

"I don't get it either," he'd said. "Most of my family is brown hair and brown eyes. How I got stuck looking like this is beyond me." After twenty minutes, the two squadrons were all sitting down, laughing and joking. Eddie and Chopper had hit it off right away, swapping jokes back and forth. Mobius Squadron was like Wardog in a lot of ways, such as being a closely-knit family. Despite Forrest's assurance that he hadn't acted any differently with Wardog, Edge could see differently.

The flight lead was more inclined to talk and laugh, which Edge supposed was normal considering how he'd been an outsider serving in a foreign military. Nagase supposed she would've done the same thing, and it did help that they didn't have to worry about the war for that moment.

"- So this dumbass lets us handle the small fry while he sinks that carrier and blows away its air wing," Eddie was saying as he told the story of the attack on Comberth Harbor during the Continental War. He'd just finished recounting Forrest's foolhardy attack on the Invincible Fleet's carrier.

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Forrest returned, chuckling. They were in dry clothes now, having found some spare flight suits in the barracks, the green jumpsuits devoid of any identifying markings. "You weren't doing your job so I had to step in!"

A few mocking whistles rang out at the challenge.

"Hey, Eddie, there's something I was wondering," Blaze said suddenly.

"What?"

"During that chemical attack on that college town in Yuktobania, did you guys step in on that? Because I heard a missile call that sounded a lot like you."

The other ace grinned. "Yep. That was us. Don't forget, that mission was only a couple days after the invasion, which gave us plenty of time to move out and get here. Matter of fact, only a couple hours after the invasion succeeded, we were on our way."

"So you came here?" Edge asked, "To this base?"

"Yeah. It was abandoned when we got here, but then the Kestrel showed up and we began working with them to keep your butts safe. That was how we knew to haul ass towards the stadium, because the Andromeda, one of the ships outside, was able to intercept a coded transmission to Yellow Squadron, telling them to attack you."

"Well, I'm not complaining it happened," Archer said fervently, to nods and laughs from the others.

* * *

It was close to two days later before anything major happened, which none of the former Osean pilots complained about, taking the time to get to know Mobius better and to unwind after the week's hectic upheaval. The most sobering news, though, came from the news that the group watched in Kestrel's mess hall.

"I'm standing here on the outskirts of Cinigrad," the reporter shouted into his mike over the sounds of AK-47s, M-14s, and M-16s chattered in the background, punctuated every now and again by mortar fire or a tank's main gun firing, "where the fighting has been intense for the last day and a half. The Osean Defense Forces, after their stunning sweep through Yuktobania, seem to be losing momentum, which is letting the fight bog down. The skies above are raining fighter jets as they keep shooting each other down with almost maddening speed.

"In all this turmoil, the one question on the lips of the Osean ground forces and the commanders of the campaign is 'Where are the Razgriz?' The Razgriz refers to the Four Wings of Sand Island…"

The reporter vanished as one of the pilots switched off the TV.

"Why're they keeping our shoot down hushed up?" Chopper asked.

"Morale," Hawkeye answered. "If the Osean military found out that their greatest squadron had been shot down because they were traitors, the military would lose their will to press on and would get pushed back."

"But they have to come clean some time!" Edge pointed out.

Forrest nodded. "Yeah, but the thing is, they'll say that we were killed on our way into the area by a hidden AA site or some other crap. It would still hurt morale, but nowhere near as much as it would if they branded us as traitors."

"So," said a new voice, revealed to be Pops when the two squadrons looked around, "that evokes the question, what now?"

"We know the Belkans are behind this entire damn fiasco," Chopper said.

"Right, and President Harling hasn't been seen in the capital since the Mother Goose 1 incident," Gennette added.

"Which would lead to the conclusion that the President is being held somewhere in Osea or Belka," Captain Snow finished. The Kestrel's only remaining pilot had taken to sitting with them and had become a member of the fold.

"And we're the only ones that know about it," Anderson added. "So that means, Mobius Squadron, Wardog Squadron and the Kestrel's battle group are the only ones in any kind of position to do anything about it."

"So," Forrest said, voicing the opinions of everyone present. "How do we rescue President Harling? Wardog's kinda short on planes right now."

Pops grinned. "Brian, I'm glad you asked…"

The former Belkan ace led the two squadrons to the flight deck.

"Whoa! Pops, these're…!" Chopper shouted.

"Four F-35 Lightning II stealth fighters. It's the C variant, so they're all ready for carrier combat." Pops finished with a grin.

"Where'd we get them?" Forrest asked. The Belkan pointed to a freighter that was sitting on the other side of the bay.

"That ship is from North Osea and it's been smuggling fighters to and from Yuktobania and Osea. We think it's been supplying Ofnir and Grabacr with their fighters. Well, onboard this one were the JSFs and a few F-22s."

"Osea's top-notch war planes," Snow finished.

"Right. So, now we have the hardware, so now what do we do?" Pops asked, looking at the assembled pilots.

Forrest smirked. "Do you even need to ask?"

Later in the briefing room, Pops stood up before the assembled pilots. "Alright," he said, "if there are no objections, then I'll take command of the air operation. Right, the Andromeda had picked up a strange message, origin unknown. The message contains the location of a small village within southern Belka, near the border with North Osea. We believe that this location is the place where the President is being held."

"What's the location of the prison?" asked Eddie.

The Belkan ace smiled. "Steir Castle," he replied, "Right on Ground Zero of one of the seven nuke detonations that happened in the Belkan War fifteen years ago. It's also the place where the Demon Lord shot down the X-B0 after its attack on his home base in Ustio."

Murmurs passed around the pilots. They could all tell you the time, place, what they were wearing and what they were doing at the time the seven nukes went off. Forrest had been getting ready for bed at the time it'd happened and he could remember standing at the TV in his house, looking at the news as it showed the seven mushroom clouds rising over the Waldreich mountain range.

"Now, about the loadout for the mission. Since we have three different flights, we will equip you all with a well-rounded loadout. Wardog will get a primarily ground-attack load. Mobius Alpha will get air dominance and Mobius Bravo will be going with a mix. Mobius 5 and 6 get air dominance and Mobius 7 and 8 will get ground-attack. Are there any questions?"

Snow's hand went up.

"Yes Captain?"

"Sir, what about me."

Forrest answered the naval fighter pilot. "Capt. Snow will fly with Wardog."

"Great! So we get a five-ship!" Chopper said brightly.

"No. Wardog will stay a four ship. I'm taking command of Mobius Squadron again."

"So who leads Wardog?" Richthofen asked.

Forrest looked at the only female in the room, who was sitting right next to him. "Edge, you're Wardog 1 now."

The pilot looked shocked. "But Blaze…"

"Yeah!" Chopper cried. "Nagase'll be great!"

"Don't worry Kei," Archer said gently. "We'll help you get used to it!"

Edge still looked hesitant, but Forrest's confidence in her and the desire to prove him right (and prove to herself she could lead) overrode her hesitation. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Good," Pops said nodding. "Blaze, I'll be in charge of the CIC here on Kestrel. You'll have control of the actual operation. You have Mobius and Wardog and you'll be taking Sea Goblin with you because they'll be doing the actual rescue of the President."

The newly reinstated Mobius 1 nodded. "Right."

"Alright? Move out!"

The room dissolved into a mass of movement as the pilots headed for their planes.

"Wait! Blaze!"

The ace stopped and looked back at Edge. "What's wrong Nagase?"

"Brian, what do we do about landing?"

"Huh?"

"We're not carrier qualified!"

"Oh right. Shit. Well, just land back on the runway when we get back and you can get qualified tomorrow. We really don't have any other option right now."

The other pilot nodded and headed for the flight deck while Blaze headed for the hangers outside.

* * *

The flight deck of Kestrel was abuzz with steam and vapor, with men in different colored shirts running everywhere as the carrier began to launch its first aircraft in many weeks. Snow hadn't had a mission ever since his last when his entire flight had been shot down and the rest of the time he'd spent doing touch and gos off the Kestrel to keep his qualification.

Edge's heart pounded in her chest as she taxied her F-35, laden with a pair of 1000-lb JDAMs and two AMRAAM Slammers. She didn't have an internal gun, nor did she have Sidewinders for close combat, but the ace knew that with Mobius and Blaze guarding her back, she really only had to worry about the ground fire that would inevitably be present at the castle.

The F-35 belonging to Capt. Snow rocketed off one of the waist catapults while a man in a yellow shirt guided her into position on the number 2 cat, as they called it, the one on the right of the bow.

A small white object, the shuttle, emerged from the smoke as a blast shield was raised behind her. The pilot hit a switch and her jet dipped as the nose gear compressed and the aircraft was hooked up to the shuttle. Nagase made one final check of her systems, caught a Raptor leaping into the sky from the runway in front of her, then tossed a salute to the men outside and grabbed a small bar on the inside of her canopy.

There was a clunk and Edge grunted against the g's that crushed her into her seat as her Lightning went from standing still to two hundred knots in under two seconds. There was a jolt as she left the deck and her hands dropped to the controls, so similar to the F-22 and she had to blink as her helmet showed her all her HUD information.

The F-35 was a marvel of engineering, just like the F-22. There were no individual displays on the F-35, only a single 20x8 touch screen that could be configured to show different displays and a helmet mounted HUD that replaced the traditional one she was used to. It allowed her to look anywhere she wanted and still see her HUD. In terms of performance, it was inferior to the 22, but in terms of versatility, which would be crucial in the missions to come, the Lightning surpassed even the Raptor.

Soon all three flights were formed into one massive squadron, the first Mobius flight, called Mobius Alpha, in center, Mobius Bravo, the second flight, on the right, and Wardog off to the left. Twelve aircraft all winging their way north, following Sea Goblin, who'd departed some hours earlier in order to meet them at Steir Castle.

"Attention all aircraft, this is Sky Eye. I'll be the AWACS for this mission, handling all target tracking and vectoring you to meet the threats. The chain of command will be the Colonel, in charge of the air operations and the strategy to deal with upcoming missions, myself, in charge of the command and control, and General Forrest, who is in command of both squadrons. Any questions?"

The silence was deafening.

"Alright, good luck."

"Man," Chopper said from Edge's left, "I like him more than I do Thunderhead."

"It's 'cause he's had to deal with Boss and all his crazy-ass ideas," Roy said.

"No arguments from me," Olds answered.

"Jeeze, just because I was the one who suggested flying inside Megalith," Forrest cut in in mock exasperation. "You'll never let me live that one down, will you?"

"Nope, never," Eddie answered, prompting laughs from all the pilots. The upbeat nature was a total one-eighty from Edge's experiences in the Osean military and the laughter helped to relieve her tension at being suddenly thrust into the lead position, but she knew she had it easy when compared with Blaze's job.

The rest of the flight was like that. Forrest hadn't been kidding when he said that Sky Eye allowed chatter, though it grew more and more scarce the farther into Osean territory they got. Edge blessed stealth technology with all her heart. If they'd been in anything other than the F-35 and F-22, they'd have been shot out of the sky long ago by Osea's ADIZ.

* * *

The formation sped out over Waldriech and the scene changed dramatically. All greenery disappeared. Barren wastes and brown plants became the norm and everything seemed to be stark and steril. It was like time and life had simply frozen, entombing the border area between Belka and Osea at the moment the detonations went off. They passed twinkling rivers, but they looked cold and false. They passed villages and towns, but there was no movement. Even the sun seemed to be hard and cold, as if its rays couldn't reach this place that'd been frozen in time.

The combat area came into view and it was just as austere as the rest of the mountains. Stier Castle sat on a high cliff that was abutted by a deep lake, but Edge knew that it was really one of the blast craters from the nukes that had been set off. She knew the story. This was where a nuclear strike force had taken off for Ustio, only to encounter the Demon Lord himself and get the entire force shredded. Then some unknown party within Belka had set off Armageddon.

"So this is it," Zivi said, quiet awe in his voice. "Larry told me about this place. It's the place where he abandoned the Demon Lord and joined A World With No Boundaries. The XB-0 was shot down not too far from here."

"We don't have time for sightseeing," Forrest answered. "Mobius 1 to all aircraft, begin the mission. Mobius Bravo, engage and destroy the SAMs and Triple-A on the castle. Wardog, put bombs on the gate into the castle's keep. We're dealing with a nation here and I'd bet anything they have tanks and infantry hidden nearby."

"Roger Boss."

"Copy Blaze."

The two flights split while Forrest and Mobius Alpha began to orbit over the castle, eyes scanning for any potential interloping aircraft. With almost mechanical precision, the four Raptors from Mobius Bravo took out all of the gun and missile emplacements on the castle. As soon as the four Raptors were clear, Wardog screamed in and a bomb dropped from Edge's bay, impacting right on the roof of the keep's gate and dropping it into the gate, barring anyone from coming through.

"Mobius 1, Sky Eye, bandits confirmed vector 360."

"Mobius 1 roger. Moving to engage the enemy."

"Sea Goblin is on station. Squad is away and moving to the President's location. They'll report in when they have him."

"Sky Eye roger. Wardog, cover Sea Goblin. Mobius Bravo, move to reinforce Mobius Alpha."

"Edge, roger."

"Mobius 5 copy. Moving to cover the Boss."

Edge felt a thrill race through her. It was incredible. Despite being two very different squadrons from two countries, they were working together with seamless precision that only a doctor could match.

'And it can all be traced back to Blaze,' Edge thought fondly. 'He's the flight lead that we all follow without hesitation. He's the glue that's letting us work together so well.' There was no doubt in her mind anymore. Brian Forrest was truly the Ace of Aces.

Gunfire and chaotic calls came over the radio, then the sound of the platoon leader's voice.

"Alright, there he is! Go go go!"

Forrest grinned beneath his mask as he looped a Belkan F-16 that'd begun to dogfight him. The operation was going as it should've. Even better, actually, because the there was no stiff resistance like he'd thought there'd be. Now they had the president in custody and they would begin the pull out.

"Mobius 1, Fox Two!"

A Sidewinder burst from his side bay and slammed into the aircraft that was maneuvering in front of him.

"Hey!" Edge shouted. "Tanks in the courtyard! They must have been hidden inside the castle! Wardog is engaging!" Thunderclaps radiated across the sky as Chopper and Snow dropped both their JDAMs on the tanks, Robby Olds and Roy coming in with cannons blazing just afterward.

"Shit!" Grimm's voice shouted. "I'm spiked!"

"This is Snow, I see him. Looks like a Black Widow!"

"Standby. Mobius Bravo. We can handle things here, move to support Wardog. Get those things off their tails."

"Roger Boss," Epstein replied as the other four Raptors peeled up and away, screaming back towards the castle.

"Mobius 2, splash one. That's about clears things…" Eddie's alarm began beeping at him. "Rickenbacker here, I'm spiked! Where're they?"

Forrest twisted in his seat, looking around for the interlopers. He caught a flash of white speeding towards his number two in a steep dive. "Mobius 1, tally ho. Move it Eddie! He's diving on you!"

"Roger. Shoot him off me Boss."

The second Raptor went into a dive, seemingly setting himself up for death as the enemy now had a perfect shot of his tail, but Blaze was already peeling up and around, getting on the YF-23's tail.

The YF-23 was designed as a competitor to the F-22, but lost out because of its higher cost, even though it was stealthier in that it had a lower IR signature due to the design of the tail pipes, which were supposed to absorb and dissipate heat. Forrest moved closer, his fingers dancing on the HOTAS, setting himself up for a guns shot.

The Belkan realized that he had a fighter on his tail and immidiatly broke off, pulling up into a climb that took advantage of his greater airspeed, converting the speed into altitude.

"These guys are better than the Yukes," Forrest remarked. "They fly differently."

"No kidding," Eddie answered as he pulled up on his lead's wing and got ready to follow Mobius 1 after the bandit. The second ace watched as the Belkan rolled above them and began to dive again. "Here he comes."

"Mobius 3, Fox Two!"

Zivi's missile missed a direct hit, but still detonated close enough to perforate the fighter's frame. The right tail fin began to shake and wobble violently before it sheared right off and the Black Widow went into a flat spin.

"Nice shot!"

"Thanks Boss."

The Belkan's wingman decided that dealing with the four F-22s of Mobius Alpha was more than he bargained for and he peeled off, pulling up and away before exiting the combat area.

"Picture clear," Sky Eye said. "Area sanitized. Sea Goblin, hurry and extract."

Gunfire and chaotic commands filled the radio.

"Love to, but we're pinned down here. We got backed into an alcove and now we can't get out! We're on the side of the castle that's closest to the cliff. If you can open a way out, we can extract!"

"Nagase."

"Blaze?"

"Drop your JDAM right on the wall. Punch through it and we can pull the President out of here."

"Roger." Forrest watched as Wardog's lead F-35 rolled in on her pass. The bays came open and a single JDAM dropped out, speeding through the air and slamming square into the wall. A massive tongue of flame and smoke shot from the side of the castle as small splashed raised from the lake when chunks of stone and debris hit it. The Sea Stallion from Sea Goblin moved from its place behind the pinnacle of the castle till it was right beside hole. Mobius 1 grinned as he watched small black figures leap the gap into the chopper, even the wounded ones, then the door closed and the Stallion pulled away.

"Sea Goblin is away," Forrest reported. "How's the President?"

One of the soldiers came on with a glow in his voice. "He's just fine. A little dirty maybe, but he's fine. Not a scratch on him." The pilots whooped and hollered as they pulled into formation and turned back towards home.

* * *

Night had fallen when the strike force returned to the carrier. Sea Goblin landed smartly on Kestrel's deck while the fighters made fast landings at the small airstrip. The pilots didn't even wait for their aircraft's turbines to stop turning before they were all running in a rush of green up the gangway up to Kestrel and onto the bridge.

There, President Harling was talking with Captain Anderson and Pops, looking rather relieved that he'd been rescued from his captivity. He noticed the pilots in the doorway and smiled, giving them a salute, which was returned by all the aces.

The squadrons were sitting in the mess hall later when the President came down.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming to my rescue," he said. "I was beginning to think that I'd never get out of there."

"Why'd they kidnap him in the first place?" asked Robby.

Forrest answered. "It's because with him out of the way, it cleared the path for Vice President Applerouth to come in and take control of the government. That's why we haven't heard anything about the President since the that mission to patrol near the automated SAM sites."

"Right," Harling added. "After that 8492 group showed up, they took me prisoner, shot Tommy and took me to Steir Castle. I've spent the entire war there, just watching the nuclear crater from outside my window."

Blaze shivered. "I really don't like that place. I can hear the voices of the dead."

The rest of the men and women in the room nodded grimly. They'd all heard it too. The cries of despair and anger right before the weapons used by their own government vaporized them in a wind of nuclear ash.

"And to prevent that kind of loss in Osea and Yuktobania," the President added. "I have a proposition for all of you."

The aces sat forward in their chairs, all ears.

"I'd like for all of you to help me end this tragedy before it can escalate. To that end, you will all fly for me, under my direct command and will bypass all treaties formed between Belka and Osea as we attempt to end this war. We have to do what is necessary to finish this."

Every pilot looked at Blaze, who stared right back. "What?"

"You're in command of this party," Chopper said with a grin.

"That's right," Edge added. "You're Mobius 1 and Blaze and all of us will follow you to hell and back."

"So Boss?" Yeager asked. "What're we gonna do?"

Forrest stood and grinned. "Sir, we're in!"

"Good now the first thing we need to do is to disguise the Wardog aircraft. I've already been on the phone with the Prime Minister of ISAF, who has issued orders to Mobius Squadron saying that they are to support and defend Mobius 1 in whatever manner they deem needed."

"Sir," Edge said, standing up as well. "I have an idea…"

Edge's idea was brilliant. Overnight, the four F-35s were reapainted, getting a solid black coat that was trimmed in blood red. The dog's head of Wardog was gone, replaced with the ornate thorn-and-rose rimmed insignia that would become just as well known as Mobius Squadron's Ribbon insignia.

The new emblem read 'The Ghosts of Razgriz'.

"And," the President finished, during a small ceremony to commemorate Wardog's official death and Razgriz's birth, "the Kestrel, her battlegroup, the Ghosts of Razgriz, and Mobius Squadron are hereby grouped together under the designation 226th Joint Fighter Wing, with myself as Commander in Chief, Colonel Peter N. Beagle as Operations Commander, Major General Brian Z. Forrest as the Air Wing Commander and Captain Bud Anderson as Fleet Commander."

The commanders saluted and the ceremony was over.

"Hey Kid," Chopper called as he came up to the ace, who now had his old colors on his uniform. The ISAF flag was standing out proudly on his right arm, Mobius Squadron wing patch on his left and two black stars were stitched to his shoulders. "What's the Z in your name stand for?"

"It's my middle initial," Forrest answered, trying to hide his grin, knowing he would get under his wingman's skin.

"I know that you wise ass! I mean what's it _stand_ for!"

"Y'know, that's a really good question," Eddie said, coming over, his eyes glinting with a light that made Forrest nervous. "I don't think that Boss has ever told us his middle name!"

"So?" Edge asked, looking expectant, the same look Eddie had on her face.

Forrest sighed. "Fine. It stands for Zachary. My full name is Brian Zachary Forrest. Happy?"

Chopper busted up laughing. "Zachary!? I expected you to have some badass middle name, not Zachary!"

Blaze grinned, rather evilly in everyone's opinion, "Oh yeah?" He returned. "At least my name's not Alvin."

That shut up the loud ace. "You killjoy," he muttered sullenly as Grimm, Edge and Eddie all laughed at the other pilot's indignation.

The fun and games were over in the next few hours as everyone got down to business. Now that they had the President back, they had to find a way to stop Belka from escalating the war.

* * *

And escalating it was. The next day, the fighting in and around Cinigrad was intensifying almost by the hour as the two armies clashed, gained ground, then were forced to retreat as the other force rallied and retook the ground it had lost. It was a back and forth duel of the worst kind and the casualties were mounting fast.

Once again, the men and women of the 226th were in the Kestrel's mess hall, watching the news reports from half the world away.

"I'm coming to you live from the heart of Cinigrad, where the latest offensive by the Osean military has started to lose steam. Even as I speak, Yuktobanian T-90 tanks are grouping in the city's center just on the other side of this high rise complex and they will begin their push outwards within the hour if the predictions of the Osean commanders are correct. Every effort has been made to stop the rally, but without the support of the Four Wings of Sand Island, the possibility of stopping the offensive is low indeed."

The reporter launched into a monologue describing how Wardog had been bounced the day before by an unknown Yuke ace squadron and shot down before even getting in range to attack and Forrest shut the TV off in disgust.

"Maybe we should launch," he said to the room at large. "Show them who they're dealing with. I'm getting sick of sitting here doing nothing."

"We get it Blaze," Chopper agreed. "I'd follow after you in a heartbeat."

Then Edge said the one thing that was truly keeping Blaze from launching. "Yeah but if we do go, then we'll get shot down for real this time, and over enemy territory no less."

Pops entered the room then. "Brian," he said, looking puzzled and grim at the same time. "Come here. We need you on the bridge."

"What's going on Pops?" he asked as he followed the other ace back up the steps to the pinnacle of the island.

"Andromeda just picked up a message,and the President has our new orders."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Who's the message from?"

"No idea, it just gave us a set of latitude and longitude, a time, and the number of votes President Harling won in his elections."

They stepped through the hatch onto the bridge.

"I've got him sir," Pops said to the leader of all Osea.

"General Forrest, I have a new mission for you. We have the location of the coordinates. And get this, it ties in nicely with the Belkan problem we've been having."

Forrest felt his interest sharpen. "Oh? How's that?"

"Well," Pops said, taking over, "the named location is an old abandoned mine in Belka that was used by that country during the war fifteen years ago and later used by A World With No Boundaries. It's the Yering Mine and I used to hear rumors during my time with Belka that that was where all our tactical nukes were being stored."

Forrest felt his blood turn to ice. "You're not saying…"

Pops nodded grimly. "Yeah, I think Belka's about to ship nuclear weapons to both countries."

"If Osea and Yuktobania are both being controlled by Belkan hardliners from the shadows and they get their hands of the nuclear weapons," the President said.

"It'll mean massive casualties in both countries and this war will never end." Forrest finished.

The President nodded. "Yeah, and Applerouth might just call in the alliance with Ustio and Sapin if Osea is attacked by nukes."

"And the Yuke PM will call in his favors that Aurelia and Estovakia owe him," Pops added.

"Which means that those countries will call in their allies," Forrest continued, seeing where the men were going with this, "and the world will degenerate into World War III." He turned for the door. "I'll get Razgriz and Mobius ready to move."

"Wait General," the President called. "We cannot mobilize immidiatly. The nukes will take some time to get ready and move and we cannot rule out the fact that the Grey Men may be onto us and are setting us up for ambush."

"That's why we called you up here. The President and I have decided that the best way to execute this mission is to launch a single fighter out on a recon mission. We'll leave the selection process up to you as the Air Wing Commander."

Forrest hesitated. He didn't want to send any of his pilots out on a mission where they would be all alone in enemy territory with a substantial chance of getting bounced on the way it. Finally, he sighed.

"Don't bother. I'll go."

"Are you sure?" Pops asked, looking wary.

"Yeah. Not to brag or anything, but I'm the best pilot in the Wing, so it makes sense that the best pilot should take on the hardest mission."

"But you are the leader," the President pointed out. "The leader doesn't have to do the hardest missions."

Forrest smiled as he headed for the hatch. "Sir," he answered, "what good is it being a leader if you aren't willing to get in front and _lead_?"

As the ace descended the steps, he felt a twinge of apprehension. It would be his first solo mission in many years. He hadn't flown out to achieve an objective alone since that mission over Farbanti. Operation Katina didn't count since it was more of a police operation than an actual fight. At the same time, he felt giddy. He would be alone, without the Ghosts of Razgriz or Mobius Squadron to depend on. Did he still have what it takes to fly into harm's way alone and come back alive?

'I guess this is the mission that answers that question,' he thought.

"Well Boss?" Yeager asked as their lead came back into the mess hall. "We goin' or not?"

"No, you're not. I am."

The looks he got ranged from surprise to concern.

"What're you talking about Blaze?" Edge asked, looking worried for some reason.

"I mean, I'm launching solo this time," he answered as he headed for the Ready Room, both squadrons hot on his heels. "We need recon pictures of the site and I wouldn't feel comfortable sending any of you out on your own like that."

"So you don't think we can handle it, is that it?" Chopper demanded, getting angrier by the second.

"No, I know you can handle it," the lead answered, "but I wouldn't be able to handle it if one of you got shot down and killed on my orders. At least this way I know it'll be my own fault if I die."

"Awfully heroic of you," Yeager grunted.

His flight lead grinned. "Yeah, but you said it yourself Chuck, when I flew into Megalith. You remember what you told me?"

The gruff ace grinned. "Yeah. 'You crazy son of a bitch, your gonna get yourself killed.'"

"And it worked out then. Well," he finished pulling on his g-suit and grabbed his helmet and mask, "I gotta go. See you guys in a few hours."

He headed off down the hall and Edge watched him go, a strange sensation in her stomach. It was like she was watching him go marching off to death without a second thought and she would be left behind with nothing but a broken world.

Then it hit her, all at once, so hard and fast that it stole her breath. The strange feelings she'd been having whenever she looked at the ace, the abnormal amount of anger when she'd found out who he really was, the extreme sadness at not being trusted, and the elation when she was told he thought she could make it in Mobius Squadron.

She loved him.

Really she did, and if she let him die without him knowing, Edge would never forgive herself. She would become the weeping maiden that so many legends spoke about, the woman who waited for her love to come back, only to find out he was dead and had died not knowing how she felt.

Kei Nagase would be damned before she let that happen.

Checking to make sure the others were in the mess hall again, she ran after Blaze, not knowing how she would tell him, only knowing she had to.

* * *

Forrest was in the hangar with his F-22, looking over his plane with meticulous care. He scowled as he noted the lack of even a Sidewinder in the side bay. In order for the Raptor to get off the ground with the heavy camera equipment in the ventral bay, he had to take off without any form of armament whatsoever.

The pounding of boots on cement met his ears and the ace stood, cracking his back as he turned. He'd been hunched over, checking beneath the wings and the gear and he felt kind of stiff. Brian blinked when he saw who it was.

"Edge? What's wrong?"

The female pilot looked upset. Her eyes were red and she was panting, as if she'd run the whole way from the Kestrel to the hangar without stopping. The ace himself had taken a golf cart, which was currently parked out behind the hangar, awaiting his return.

That seemed to set her off and she rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck, just like she'd done at the hospital after they'd picked her up from her little vacation behind enemy lines.

"Edge?"

She pulled back, but didn't release him.

"I-I…just wanted…to…tell you that…" she trailed off, not knowing how she was going to word this.

"Tell me what Kei?"

"That I…care…" she got mad at her own indecision and came right out and said it. "Dammit Brian I love you!"

His blue eyes widened as the strange way she'd been acting towards him made sudden sense. She loved him? At first he cringed at the idea. During his time as an ISAF ace, and later as an Osean ace, he'd been infamous around the base for not having a girlfriend, the reason being that he didn't want her to be emotionally wounded when he was killed. But the more he thought on it, the more he found he didn't mind at all.

Kei had proven herself to be an adept pilot and a tough woman, one who could understand the dangers he faced as a pilot and the stress he had to put up with. Time and time again, she'd shown herself to be the best thing that'd ever happened to him as a flight lead, always there when he needed backup and when he needed support as a person. He wasn't sure he reciprocated yet, but hell, what'd he have to lose?

Forrest's mouth opened and Edge prepared herself for the rejection.

"Thanks Kei."

"Huh?"

"I said thanks. I'm…glad you let me know."

She smiled gently. "So how do you feel?"

He frowned. "I don't know yet. This came at me out of nowhere, and I need time to think." Something inside him saddened with her expression. "But I'm willing to try. If there was any girl out there for me, I think you'd be her, Kei."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Wait for me. I'll go take a couple of photos and be right back then we can talk." He scaled the ladder into his Raptor's cockpit and began going through his procedures.

Edge's voice stopped him.

"I'm not waiting for you!"

"Huh?"

"I said I'm not waiting for you! If I did, you'd get yourself lost out there without a decent wingman! I'll be there escort you back!"

Forrest laughed and Edge felt relieved that she told him how she felt. He didn't reject her. He hadn't accepted either, but Kei, like Forrest, was willing to try. Hell, what did she have to lose?

The lead of Razgriz stood back as her Commander's Raptor started up and headed out the door of the hangars, wheeling left and heading away, the roar of his engines becoming a low whistle.

Only a minute later, the whistle became a roar and Forrest's fighter, Ribbon insignia standing out proudly on its tail, flashed past, twin tongues of flame shining brilliantly as he leapt into the sky and was gone.

Edge felt a twinge of apprehension, but felt like a massive weight had been lifted from her chest. Forrest knew how she felt now and Kei didn't feel so worried about his not returning anymore. Next time, though, if he tried that stunt again, she'd hound him until he relented and took her along.

"See you soon Blaze," she muttered to the air as she headed back for the Kestrel, the echoing roar of Forrest's engines fading with each step.

* * *

Well, how was it? It wasn't too sappy or bad was it? This is my first attempt at a romance of any kind, and with two or three coming up in my other fics real fast, I need all the feedback I can get. So now the Razgriz has been formed, Mobius is along for the ride and all seems well as we enter the home stretch of the Ultimate Ace and with it we enter the home stretch of my time as an Ace Combat writer. That's right, unless I decide to do a tie in fic or a prequel, which seems unlikely, this is probably going to be my first and last time writing in the Ace Combat genre. Fear not, though, because that's a long way off still and I shall write in other categories.

**Glossary:**

**F-35 Joint Strike Fighter (AKA Lightning II): **The second fighter that is slated to become the backbone of the USAF and several other branches and nations too, it has all of the F-22's capablities at a cheaper cost, though with less performance than the Raptor, which is alright seeing as they are to be used in conjunction with one another. It seemed to me to be the natural choice for the Razgriz, becuase they needed a stealth that was carrier capable and could keep up with the Raptor. I might make the X-02 available for Mobius Squadron but that's still up in the air.

**226th Joint Fighter Wing: **Simply my designation for the combined squadrons of Osea and ISAF. I'm fairly sure that two Squadrons don't make a Wing, but eh, what sounds better Joint Fighter Group or Joint Fighter Wing? I like Wing better.


	21. Fire Extinquisher

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Last time: Kei admits her feelings for Blaze

This time: A couple of missions.

* * *

Most of North Osea was farmland. The soil was rich and despite the relatively short growing season, the inhabitants of the region were more often than not able to pull out a substantial harvest. Since most of the area was farmland, the towns were rather small and far few and in between. It was for that reason that Forrest chose it as his ingress route into Belka.

The cattle and livestock bolted everywhere as a huge roar filled the air over the sleepy town of Thompson and the windows in every house for miles around shook like a giant was beating on a huge bass drum. The people ran out of their houses to see what was going on, staring into the gray and overcast skies, looking for the source of the racket.

They got their answer when a blur that was the same color of the clouds whizzed by at just under the speed of sound, the object flying very low as it flashed over the town square and turned north.

The people began to worry that an invasion was coming, though no one wanted to leave, so they just went back to their daily lives, the memory of the unusual phenomenon vanishing as quickly as its engine noise did.

Forrest grunted slightly as he pulled up, gaining more altitude and heading into the clouds. There was a mountain range that he had to clear coming up and even though he'd been flying through terrain mask until now, he really didn't want to try going through mountains this fast at only 1000 AGL. If he screwed up and died, then Edge would kill him.

At that though, the face of the only female pilot in the 226th swam into his vision. The ace frowned beneath his oxygen mask as he tried to work out just what she meant to him. Edge was smart, aggressive, soft-spoken but didn't roll over if she didn't want to, and she wasn't that bad to look at either.

'Who're you trying to kid, Forrest,' Blaze thought. 'When she told you she loved you you were stunned. Now though, every time I think about it, I get this jumpy feeling in my gut that I can't explain and I feel warm.' Maybe this was what Edge felt like? If it was then it wasn't an all-together unpleasant feeling. 'Maybe I do reciprocate? No…I do reciprocate. I miss not having Edge off my wing.' He smiled wistfully. 'Looks like this is my last solo mission. Now I just have to get back alive to tell her.'

That was the only time he was able to dwell on the problem though because he was approaching the operational area around forty-five minutes later. His Raptor went into a dive and as it did, his radio crackled to life.

"Blaze, how you feeling?" It was Pops, back on the Kestrel.

"Not bad. How's the situation?"

"We've had Andromeda monitoring the radio traffic coming from your area and so far there's nothing unusual. You're on course for the Yering Mine so far, but from what we've been able to gather from the intercepts, the area is laced with radar sites. I'm not going to lie, it's nasty out there. There's enough of them for you to get picked up on their scopes."

"Great. Any way around them?"

"You bet. You see that river?"

"Yeah, I'm flying right over it now."

"Good. Head down to a lower altitude and follow it. It should take you straight past the area we're looking for."

Blaze tipped the nose down a little bit more to increase his descent. It wouldn't do to get picked up right off the bat. "Roger. I'll follow the river." He leveled off, skimming the water, the wind from his passage curling up under him and making the aircraft buffet a little from the backwash.

"We're going to radio silence now. I'm watching your progress on the camera mounted on the left side of your HUD. I'll call again when you've made it to the target. Good luck." There was a burst of static and Forrest was all alone in the cockpit.

Mobius 1 sighed to himself as he blasted low over the tranquil water. Winter was coming early here in the more northern sections of the continent and it showed here tremendously. The trees were barren and the ground was brown from all the discarded and rotting leaves. Off to the sides of the river sat mining complexes that looked like they were fifteen years old.

'There was a battle here,' the ace noticed as he passed a mining machine that had a huge hole torn out of the center of it. The steel was mangled and twisted and all around the derelict hulk were fragments of metal that ranged in size from small pieces to an intact beam or two. Forrest noticed one that was sticking out of the ground like a javelin, as if some giant had taken it and hurled it.

He whistled to himself under the mask that covered his face. 'Did the Demon Lord do all this?' he wondered as he cruised past some warehouse-type building that were filled with cannon holes, the glass block windows shattered as if they were nothing.

The scenes of devastation continued for the rest of the trip along the river. Forrest saw everything, from the masts of ships poking out of the water that he had to avoid, to blown out buildings and machinery. He even saw the shattered remains of what looked like a Mirage 2000 or a MiG-21 laying on the bank, quietly rusting, its paint faded, the canopy missing, and the entire rear section a mangled wreck.

'Almost time.'

About three minutes later, Forrest pulled into a gentle climb right as the radio in his ear crackled to life.

"You still awake Forrest?" Pops asked. Even from this range, Forrest could hear the other man's grin through the radio.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Good. The Yering Mine's main facility should be off your left wing. Do you have a visual yet?"

Even as the elder ace was speaking, the facility in question rose from the trees off Blaze's left as he soared ever higher.

"I've got it in sight."

The facility looked as abandoned as the equipment along the river, but then movement caught his eye. It was a man, running from the group of barracks closest to him to the hangars on the other side where two fighters were sitting side by side. What really got Forrest though was that the one on the left had Osean markings while the right had the roundels from Yuktobania.

"Hey Pops, looks like there're some aggressor units here." Away from the main facility rose a massive mountain that had a small box coming from one side. That would be the main mining facility. A huge semi truck was sitting just out side the hole in the mountain and loaded onto the trailer of the truck was a long, white, tapered cylinder that Forrest had no trouble identifying. "Wait. Forget the aggressors, I just found one of the nukes that's hidden away inside the mountain over here."

"Really? Okay, we definitely want some photos of that. Get a pass over the nukes and take the shots."

"Roger."

As his Raptor banked for the pass, a faint wailing that had nothing to do with the sound of the aircraft itself met his ears. "Shit. They made me. I'm gonna have to make this quick then pull out."

"Copy that. Go for it."

The small group of people clustered around the truck dove for cover as Mobius 1 blasted past overhead, the lenses of his cameras twinkling in the cold sun as the photo equipment snapped shot after shot. Then he pulled up and skimmed the ridge of the mountain before looping back towards the base.

"Forrest, can you get a picture of the two aggressor units?"

"I'll try. Give me a second."

The aircraft were beginning to move. Blaze had only seconds to make the pass and get the shots. Once the two Flankers were too far apart, the insignia on the wings and tails wouldn't show up as well, which would lead to accusations of doctored photos when the President made his move and presented the evidence to the government and people of Osea.

'Make it good!'

The next pass was as perfect as he could've gotten it. The altitude was dead on, his speed was good, and the fact that both aircraft were on the taxiway meant that they wouldn't be able to maneuver out of his way. He passed by, snapping the shots, then pushed the throttle full forward, the Raptor lurching as it responded, unleashing its powerful engine's full thrust. An easy turn to the west followed and Forrest was on his way out, deciding that now that the enemy actually knew he was there, evading the radar would be kind of a moot point.

As his speed clicked past Mach 1, the pilot risked a look behind him. Both aggressors were airborne and climbing madly, trying to get to get their noses on him for a missile shot. Forrest pulled into a climb again, going almost vertical and blowing through twenty five thousand feet in a matter of seconds before leveling off. Now that he was in thinner air, he would be able to accelerate faster and leave these guys in the dust.

And accelerate he did, again shattering the sound barrier since he'd dropped a fair amount of speed as he traded that energy for the altitude. Backing off the throttle and going into supercriuse, the ace widened the gap between him and the slower Flankers.

The few Belkan soldiers at the base began scrambling to prepare for the assault that was sure to come as Forrest's sonic boom reached them, echoing off the mountain as if to signal that the beginning of the end was coming for the war.

Forrest's eyes narrowed as he noticed some faint, almost invisible, blips beginning to appear on his radar scope.

'Shit. They've got stealths out here and I don't have any weapons. Not even the cannon's loaded.' Despite his situation, the ace smacked his forehead through his helmet. 'I really wish I had something to fight back with. This is the last time I ever fly a recon mission without any kind of weapon.'

His frustration soon dissolved as a familiar voice came over the radio.

"Hey Kid! Need some help?"

"Chopper? What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Grimm laughed. "Well, Captain Nagase was really arguing that you needed an escort back to the base."

The woman pilot came up next and Forrest felt his heart lift at her voice. "Well, like I said, Blaze needs someone out here to make sure he doesn't get lost."

"Thanks Edge," he replied, meaning every word. Just having someone off his wing made him feel better. Even if he enjoyed flying and fighting solo, it made him really happy to know that someone would be there to bail him out if he got into trouble. "Mind getting these two jokers off my tail?"

"Sure. Edge engaging."

He passed right over the four F-35s right as they split to engage, each element taking on one of the onrushing enemies.

"Archer engaging."

The two pursuing Flankers decided that dealing with the ominous black Lightnings was more than they bargained for and went into easy turns to bug out.

"Well that was anticlimactic," Chopper muttered as the four turned back to link up with Blaze, who'd slowed down and dropped out of supercriuse to allow his squadron to catch up with him.

"Well we did have the numbers," Snow replied. Blaze felt odd, leading a five-ship formation. Sure he commanded Mobius Squadron but half the time the two flights operated independently of each other with Giora in charge of the second flight. "And Belka isn't stupid."

"Well whatever the reason, they're gone now and I have some interesting photos that need to get developed before the next mission can launch," Forrest broke in. Silence lapsed between the flight as they all headed back to the base.

* * *

When Forrest landed later that night, he quickly got rid of the Wardog pilots sending them to the Kestrel, claiming he had some last minute things to look over on his post flight inspections. Edge was the only one who didn't leave, as Blaze knew she wouldn't.

He could see the apprehension in her eyes as he came over to her and stopped. The moment between them stretched awkwardly on as Forrest clearly tried to come up with the words and tell her how he was feeling.

"Kei…uh…I," he trailed off and Edge began laughing at him. To her surprise, he actually flushed a little at her laughter. "What!?" he demanded, sounding a little hurt.

"You!" She chuckled. "I never thought I'd get to see Brian Forrest looking so out of place!" Forrest crossed his arms defensively and tried to get the heat in his face to go away. Finally Edge's giggles began to lapse and fade. "Fine. I'll shut up now."

Blaze's mouth opened again and Edge waited for the words, but it seemed that he wouldn't be able to get them out. Edge took that as a good sign. It would've been easier for him to reject her if that was what he'd decided on. Kei had to restrain herself from busting up again as her lead continued to look like a fish out of water.

Forrest seemed to notice and he scowled.

Edge's heart rose in her throat as he lunged at her suddenly and crushed her to him. "Brian!" she yelped at the sudden action, but her protests and any further thoughts that she might've had were wiped from her head as Forrest's lips met hers.

Edge pushed him away, trying to hide the flush that was coloring her pale cheeks. Forrest let her go with a cocky grin on his face.

"Well that shut you up didn't it?" he asked teasingly as his wingman turned around to hide the color, but it didn't matter because it was spreading up her neck too.

When she faced him again, Forrest blinked as he saw the childish glint in her eyes. "You know," she said frankly, "you're really bad at that." Now it was Brian's turn to go red again and Edge had to laugh at his face. He looked like he'd been caught completely flatfooted by her comeback.

Still, Kei could feel her heart dancing. What Forrest had just done illustrated more than words could ever say that he felt the same way she did. Forrest felt…complete as Kei leaned against him. His arms came hesitantly up before lightly wrapping around the other pilot who was pressed against him. He wasn't used to this. He'd had maybe one girlfriend during high school and that had been a short-lived thing as he and the other girl realized that they were better off as friends anyway.

Edge laughed lightly, shaking against him. "You are _really_ bad at this," she murmured.

Forrest released her and Edge thought she'd hurt him, but he was grinning back at her as he headed for the Kestrel and the warm food that he was going to get inside. "Well then, you'll just have to teach me then won't you," he called over his shoulder as she trotted after him. "I'm gonna warn you Edge, I'm a slow learner."

"Well I'm sure you'll catch on eventually," she answered with a smile from beside him. A real romantic might've put his arm around her and said something to make her melt, but Edge didn't expect that from Forrest. He wasn't the affectionate type and Edge knew that they wouldn't be making out on the flight deck or anything.

'And that suits me just fine,' she thought. They were both pilots, which meant that they were both focused on doing their job and not about each other. All it meant was that she would be able to cherish their moments alone even more. Besides, she never could understand how people could make public spectacles by eating each other's faces in the middle of a street or a park.

"Man," Chopper remarked to the mess hall at large, "the Kid and Nagase sure are taking their good sweet time." He grinned knowingly around the room. "Anyone wanna bet on what they're doing?"

"We're going to get a meal," said a voice from behind the loud pilot, who yelped and spun around, cracking his shins on the table he was sitting at.

Forrest and Edge were in the doorway to the mess hall both grinning at the other ace's start.

"Kid! Nagase!" Chopper spluttered, looking like a kid who'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "H-How long have you two been standing there?" The other two exchanged glances.

"Long enough," Edge said with a straight face as she walked out from behind Forrest and grabbed a tray and her dinner. Forrest followed after the other pilot without another word, though the rest of the room caught a flash of a grin after he'd passed his teammate, who looked rather uncomfortable. Mobius and Razgriz all burst out laughing at the lost look on Chopper's face. Forrest sat next to Edge, trading quiet words with her as the two watched the two squadrons mercilessly rib Chopper about what'd happened to him.

* * *

There was no laughter the next morning, though. Twelve bleary eyed pilots were in the ship's ready room, waiting for Pops to start his brief on the day's mission. It got started as soon as the old Belkan ace walked into the room.

"Alright, here's the plan," he said, pulling up the pictures Forrest had taken the day before on the screen behind him. "The pictures Blaze took yesterday confirmed the President's worst fears." He looked gravely at the assembled squadrons. "Belka is shipping nukes to Osea and Yuktobania."

Murmurs flew around the room and Edge placed a hand on Forrest's knee when she noticed his face. She knew that he would be under enormous pressure on this mission to seal up the mine and stop any more nukes from getting shipped out to the front lines. He glanced at her and covered her hand with his for a brief moment, his gratitude for the support evident even in that fleeting touch, then his attention was back on the brief. If anyone saw their little exchange, no one said anything.

"Now, we don't have a specific plan to deal with the threat. Ideally, you would want to drop half the mountain on the entrance to the mine, but we don't know how feasible it would be. Here are some of the most recent geologic photos of the area." A new picture came up, the mountain at Yering outlined with reds, blues, and yellows. It reminded Forrest of a thermal image.

"The reds are the weak points in the mountain," Pops explained. Forrest noted that there was a whole lot of red. It wound over the entire mountain like a bunch of worms wriggling through the earth. There was a big patch right above the entrance to the place.

"Hey Pops," he said. "How thick is the rock over that big patch there?"

Pops glanced at Forrest then shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, Brian," he replied, "I'm not a geologist and I know none of us here are. Still, what I do know is that the mine was closed down because they dug too deep into the mountain and they did have a problem with explosive gasses. I'm not sure if the gas is still a problem, but I imagine that the rock is still too hard to punch through."

"So that means that SDBs are out," said Capt. Snow with a frown. The room lapsed into silence that lasted for almost a minute

"The F-35 can carry the JASSM can't it?" Grim said suddenly.

"Yeah," Pops answered. "Why?"

"Well, maybe we could put it on the Razgriz jets and then see if we can't get the missile to fly right up the mine shaft and detonate inside the mountain."

"It would be risky," Forrest pointed out. "With the four Razgriz we have eight shots and it might take more than that."

"But we really don't have a choice," Z countered. "I mean, do any of us really have an alternative plan?" There were mutters and headshakes around the room. No one had an alternative.

"It's a risky plan," Pops said slowly, "but I really don't think we have much of an option. Alright, we'll go for Archer's plan. If that doesn't work…well, we just have to hope that it does. Any other questions?"

There weren't any.

"Okay, go to it."

The room dissolved into bedlam as the wing scrambled to get their gear on and go to work.

Outside in the bitter mountain air, the flight deck of the Kestrel was a flurry of activity as the four F-35s were loaded with the requested cruise missiles and the fighters loaded one by one onto the carrier's four catapults. Down on the flight line of the tiny airfield there was an equal amount of chaos as the eight Raptors belonging to Mobius Squadron were taxied to the runway and raced down the snow-frosted strip, the heat from the rubber on the pavement and the afterburners melting the snow very fast. By the time it was Forrest's turn, who was going last at his own insistence wanting to make sure his flights got off the ground safely, the snow had given way to a black and gray slurry that glistened in the cold sun, which was hidden behind a mask of heavy overcast.

'Just another day at the office,' Forrest thought to himself as he pushed the throttle in his left hand to full, his Raptor picking up speed before there was a firm kick from behind him as the afterburners lit. The ace tapped his rudder pedals sparingly. It wouldn't do to get up to takeoff speed only to go skidding out of control on the wet muck that layered the asphalt. There were no problems, though, and the F-22 climbed into the sky as if it had not a care in the world.

Pops watched from the bridge of the Kestrel with a smile as the last F-35 left the deck of the aircraft carrier and climbed away, clawing for altitude, trying to meet the others. Within seconds, the last Lightning, Archer if the Belkan ace wasn't mistaken, reached the other three black fighters, who were orbiting the carrier like hawks riding the thermals, and then they were away, moving to link up with Mobius Squadron, which was doing a similar thing as they awaited Forrest's arrival.

* * *

Finally, all the aircraft were assembled and the fighter wing turned to the northeast, a heading necessary to skirt the Osean airspace and remain outside the superpower's borders. Once they were ready to ingress, however, the formation would breach the military defense zone and punch their way into Belka's southwestern territory.

It was hours later when the three flights finally crossed the border into Belka after a tense few hours flying through the Osean defense areas. The weather was clear here, unlike back at the carrier, but it mattered little. This was still a place that had been affected by the detonations of the nukes those many years ago. Forrest noted that the landscape didn't look any different from what he remembered. The land was still brown, the trees still scraggly and sickly-looking, and the river still glittered like it was artificial.

Eddie's whistle came over the radio. "Damn. This place looks as barren as Steir Castle!"

"It's not too far from the detonations," Hawkeye reminded him. "I thought it would look worse than this." They whizzed over the blasted mining machinery.

"Wow, was all that done by the Demon Lord?" Archer asked, awe evident in his voice.

"Yeah," Nedivi replied. "From what I've heard, it gets better up ahead, closer to the target."

"Oh yeah," Forrest broke in. "There's this huge ass hangar that's all shot up and blasted out. I think it's the place where the XB-0 used to park." Sure enough, the devastation did get worse the closer to the airfield they got. Forrest was even surprised. When he'd been flying through this place the first time, he hadn't really noticed how badly hit the area had been. There were bomb craters around and on the airfield, which was now visible as a chalk-white rectangle.

"How did two fighters do this kind of damage?" He wondered.

"Hierlark let Galm Team fly out of there while they were doing the mission," Edge answered. "Didn't you read the manual they gave us during orientation?"

"You mean that little blue pamphlet?" He asked, referring to the small manual of Hierlark's history and operations and other notworthy things inside it.

"Yeah."

"Nope. Didn't touch it unless I had to." Forrest grinned as he looked to his left and saw Edge's helmeted head shaking. "Anyway, we're almost to the target now. Begin the mission."

With an almost careless grace, the formation split, Edge and the Razgriz diving low while Mobius Squadron remained above, circling like a protective swarm of hawks, ready to pounce on whatever tried to harass the other fighters. Mobius began to swirl and cavort in the sky as SAMs and Triple-A rippled up at them, the gunners of the emplacements taking out their frustration at not being able to shoot the Razgriz out on the Ribbons that soared high above.

Mobius Squadron wasn't the best in the world for nothing and all attempts to splash them were thwarted and fustrated. Blaze grunted as he forced his body through a crushing 9-g turn followed by a fast reversal, his eyes narrowing behind his visor as he noticed that there were fighters on the runway and they were beginning to roll.

"Hawkeye, roll in on those fighters and take them out. Clog the runway!"

"Roger Boss."

Within seconds, Mobius Bravo's Raptors were in dives, cannons coming to life, the area around the scrambling Belkans lighting up as red-hot tracers slammed home, the fighters bursting into flames, the pilots ejecting from their aircraft, the flaming wrecks colliding with one another and exploding.

"Mobius Alpha, we're going to do a little suppression. Lighten up this AA!"

"Roger!" With that, Mobius 1 through 4 all rolled onto their backs and streaked for the ground, which rushed up at them. At the last second, they pulled up, and the four fighters spread out over the airfield, strafing whatever they could put in their gunsights. It didn't take long for the opposition to be entirely decimated.

"Edge, firing!"

Forrest hauled back on his stick after a pass on a SAM site that'd started looking at him, screaming back into the sky almost straight up, just in time to watch Edge's cruise missile drop from her fighter's bay and speed into the mineshaft. He prayed it would find the target. If it didn't and the tunnel collapsed then the best recourse that the pilots had come up with was to pound the mountain relentlessly with the JDAMs that Mobius was carrying. It would be tough and might not succeed at all, but it was the best Forrest could come up with, seeing as how he and his wingmen had thought of it right at the last minute.

An explosion lit the air as Edge came off target, the ace dipping behind the mountain to shield herself from the worst of the blast. Forrest cursed. The missile had impacted too soon, blowing a huge chunk out of the side of the tunnel, but doing no damage to the missiles inside, unless the shockwave had pulverized the nukes, which was highly unlikely.

A second black Lightning swung around, dropping to only a few hundred feet above the treetops and carefully lining up on the target.

"This is Chopper, I'm firing!"

A second cruise missile dropped from the loud pilot's belly. The rocket sped into the cave, the swarming fighters waiting with bated breath to see what would happen. Would this be the missile that sealed off the mountain? An explosion scorched the sky, blowing off the side and top of the access tunnel, littering the ground around it with bits of concrete and rebar.

"Shit," Forrest cursed. "Come on, make this next one count."

The idea was that if one person missed, then the attacking pilot would move off to collect his or her wits and line up for a fresh pass. Archer swung in. Forrest held his breath as the missile dropped from his bay and shot down the mouth of the proverbial monster. Smoke billowed from the two holes made by Chopper and Edge as the missile moved ever deeper, passing the previous two attempts but there was no explosion, which was good. It meant that the JASSM was getting deeper into the mine.

Just when Forrest thought that the JASSM had gone stupid and didn't detonate, there was a rumble that was audible even through the canopy of his Raptor, and a plume of dirt and smoke raced from inside the access tunnel and billowed outward, expanding like a dragon breathing a great plume of flame.

"Hell yeah!" Chopper crowed as the four Razgriz came off target, the smoke settling as the tunnel finished collapsing inwards.

Forrest leaned back the best he could in his ejection, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Somehow, they'd done it and sealed off the nuclear missiles. It was all they could do for now. He twiddled his stick and set his F-22 on the course for home.

Time to see just what they were going to do from here.

* * *

"Well done," Pops said to the grinning pilots as they lounged around the Kestrel's mess hall some hours later. The 226th had returned with springs in their steps and all the F-22's bays still had their pairs of JDAMs, which was good for the wing as a whole, since it meant that the unspent ordinance could be disabled, taken apart, stored, then used again on a later mission. Since they only had as much supplies as Kestrel and her battle group could carry, the pilots and crewmen had to conserve as much as they could. "Thanks to you guys, Belka's lost their access to their nuclear depot. With any luck, we should be able to expedite the end of the war."

"I don't know, Pops," Edge answered. "I mean, we're just one fighter wing. How much would we be able to do?"

"You'd be surprised," Robin Olds told her. "The Boss was just one fighter and he did all right."

"Yeah, but I had squadrons like Rapier and Omega to help me out," Forrest broke in. "Just one man and his machine can't end a war. I influenced it greatly, but it wasn't solely me." His statement was met with murmurs of assent. The head of the 226th looked at Pops. "So what do we do now? We haven't gotten any more encrypted messages have we?"

The Belkan shook his head. "No we haven't. I don't know who the person on the other end of that line is, but at least his information's reliable, and right now, we need all the help we can get." That got nods from everyone. Their mission was seemly impossible, but if anyone could pull it off, Pops knew that it would be Mobius 1 and his cohorts.

The President strode past the mess hall right then, clad in combat fatigues with a few members of Sea Goblin hot behind him. The men and women in the mess hall looked at each other then followed after the leader of Osea as he made his way up to the flight deck where one of the helos was idling on the windswept surface.

"Mr. President?" Edge asked hesitantly, "sir what are you doing?"

Harling smiled at her. "I'm following General Forrest's example, Ms. Nagase."

"My example?" Blaze repeated, totally lost. "What example is that sir?"

"You said before you left on your recon mission that you would do it because there was no point in being a leader if you aren't willing to get out front and lead. I haven't been able to get that out of my head, so I made the decision last night to do just what you said and lead."

"So what are you saying?" Chopper prodded. "You're going to go where and do what?"

"I'm going back to Oured, Mr. Davenport, and I'm taking control of the White House again. Applerouth has been spreading his malicious agenda for far too long and I'm not about to let him order any kind of nuclear attack."

"So how are you going to pull this off with only one squad of Marines?" Manny asked. "You will be up against the whole Osean military."

The President nodded. "I am aware of that," he admitted, "but I believe that most of the men and women in our forces are just as sick and tired of this pointless war as we are. The difference between them and us is that we are in a unique position to act. We are also the only people in all of Osea who have even the faintest clue of what's going on behind the scenes."

The blades of the helicopter behind the President began to whine then spin, quickly turning into a whirling black disk that flung a heavy breeze over the entire flight deck of the Kestrel.

A Sergeant leaned out the door of the Sea Stallion and tapped Harling on the shoulder. "Sir!" he shouted over the racket of chopping blades, "it's time to go!"

The President nodded, looked at the 226th, then smiled and said, "Here goes." He stepped into the helicopter and found a seat between two soldiers who helped him to strap in.

"Don't worry!" The Sergeant shouted to the Razgriz and Mobius Squadron. "We'll make sure he's fine! You all just finish what you have to do!"

Forrest nodded and snapped his hand up in salute. The Sergeant returned it just as crisply, the slammed the door shut. There was a pause, then the rotor's noise changed in pitch and Marine One lifted off the deck, spun smartly to the left and moved off into the darkening sky. The 226th's personnel broke out into babble as they watched the helo vanish into the sky then headed below deck.

"I don't like leaving the President in a helicopter with no escort," Edge murmured as she leaned against Forrest. She relaxed somewhat as his arms snaked around her shoulders and held her close.

"I wouldn't worry," he said. "The President is a tough man, even if he's a politician. Besides, the guys in Sea Goblin are good at what they do, I'm sure he'll be just fine." The pair stood like that for another minute or two, then separated and followed after their squadronmates as the sun set the sky on fire as it sank.

As they entered the mess hall and sat down, Forrest couldn't help but wonder, where were they going to do now, and where would this little resistance of theirs take them?

He had a sneaking suspicion that they'd find out before too long.

* * *

Damn! This is so late! Sorry to everyone, but school and writer's block have been getting in the way. Plus these missions just aren't that interesting. It should get better as I go though. I dont' expect it to be this hard to write for the next few chapters. Also, don't expect any major lovey-dovey stuff on Forrest and Edge's parts. The first reason is that I can't write that kinda stuff. I just don't have the experience. Two, Edge and Forrest are both very focused on their mission right now and they kinda put their relationship on the backburner. I might step it up in the epilogue but no promises. Yes, there will be an epilogue, so keep an eye out after I finish off the SOLG mission. Anyway, that's all I have for now.

**Glossary**

**JASSM (Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missile): **A new cruise missile that's being developed to be used by the F-35. I know criuse missiles can attack from something like seventy miles away, but with the target the Razgriz were attacking, they couldn't take chances and launched it close in. As far as I know, this thing hasn't been deployed yet, but don't quote me on that.


	22. Renewal

Disclaimer: Own nothing, except a copy of the Ace Combat series games.

On with the story!

* * *

Blaze grunted as the sandy-colored wall of the canyon flashed past his canopy, mere feet away. He hoped than none of these jokers would drop in behind him and force him to punch out. If that happened, then Mobius 1 would become nothing more than a bloody-red smear on the canyon's wall.

"Damn, these guys are good!" he muttered as the ace tilted his jet on one wing and pulled hard, following the pair of fleeing Terminators ahead of him as they blasted around a hairpin turn, trying to lose him. "Whoever that guy on the radio is, I'm gonna kill him if I ever meet him. Who sends a squadron out on a mission like this!?"

* * *

It had started innocently enough. After the mission to seal the Yering Mine, Forrest and the rest of the pilots had languished without much to do for close to a week. During that time, the ISAF ace had taken all the squadrons up for a few practice dogfights in a massive Red Flag style death match that had ended with Forrest and Edge squaring off for the final dogfight. Edge had given him a run for his money and Forrest had done his damndest to 'kill' her, but in the end, the winner was the fuel. They'd run out of fuel and been forced to call the match a draw.

It was after they'd landed and shut down that Forrest had been pulled aside by Pops.

"Brian, we've got another mission," the elderly ace told him.

"Belka again?" Forrest asked.

The Raven shook his head. "Nope, not this time oddly enough. This is just a guess, but I think at least two of the nukes have gotten through, despite sealing the mine." Pops' dark eyes were grave. "I don't need to tell you what that means do I?"

Forrest felt a cold shiver run up his spine then back down. "It means Yuktobania and Osea both have at least one nuclear weapon in their possession, which worries me since the treaty fifteen years ago put a ban on all nuclear weapons."

"And that doomsday scenario we predicted is only a button press away from becoming a reality."

"So where are we going and what now?"

Pops pinched the bridge of his nose. "You guys are going into Yuktobania this time. I presume that your target is going to be the nuke that made it from Belka to there. We're going to have to move fast if we're going to catch the nuke at that location. I've done research on the area and it's nasty. The facility is located in a canyon that is too narrow and doesn't cover enough land area for the entire wing to launch, plus the canyon's rim is covered by SAM launchers. I know you fly stealths, but the problem is the sheer numbers. Even if they get a faint lock, they'll fire and whoever's on top cover will find themselves on the wrong end of a rain of missiles. You'll have to decide who to take."

Forrest nodded and Pops left the ace to deliberate just who he was going to bring with him on the mission.

"So that's the situation," Forrest finished. The entire wing was assembled in the mess hall of the Kestrel, listening with a focus only a soldier could have. "I need a few volunteers to come with me on the mission. No more than five preferably."

"I'm in," Edge said quickly, before anyone had a chance to even contemplate going along. "I told you after that recon mission that I'm not going to let you go solo anymore."

"Fair enough," Forrest replied with a small smile. It wasn't a surprise by any means that Edge would be coming along.

"Someone's gotta watch Nagase's back," Chopper jumped in, "I'm going too."

"Flying through a canyon is out of my league," Snow said. "I'll stay on the bench for this one." It was obvious that the naval pilot didn't like it, but part of being a pilot was knowing your own limits. If Snow said he didn't want to risk in, then no one would rag on him for it.

"I'll go," Archer replied. The young Sergeant looked nervous, but confident as well.

"One more," Forrest told the remaining pilots.

"Hey, I made it through that damn canyon during the attack on the solar plant," Olds said, which was true. He was one of the only pilots who survived that mission. Surprisingly enough, most of the Mobius pilots present weren't at that mission. Eddie and Olds had been there, as had Forrest, and that was pretty much it. The other pilots were either the replacement for one of the pilots that had been killed or was with another unit at the time. "I'm in too."

"Alright. We'll be the strike team. I don't know what our role will be so we'll load the fighters with a mixed loadout."

"Sounds good," Edge answered.

"Right. We leave tomorrow morning, so get some rest." With that the selected pilots rose and headed for their rooms.

* * *

Despite leaving at several hours before dawn, the sun was high in the sky by the time Forrest and his squadron, which was flying under the name Razgriz, dipped from their cruising altitude of 10,000 feet where they'd been flying along a stretch of sky frequented by transcontinental flights in hopes of throwing off any would-be pursuers, though the stealth factor would instantly tip someone off to their militaristic origins, down to the altitude of a mere few hundred feet AGL. It wasn't long after that that the five fighters were entering the canyon.

Forrest tuned in a specific frequency that the transmission had included along with a TOT and keyed his mike. They were actually a minute or two early and whatever person was on the other end probably wouldn't mind having

"Attention anyone on this frequency, this is Razgriz 1, anyone on this frequency, please respond." Blaze was apprehensive to say the least. They'd been blindly following the instructions of the weird transmissions ever since the first one had reached them. Even though the previous transmissions had produced results, the fact that they were blindly following the orders was what had the ace concerned. This could very well be a trap set by the Gray Men for the squadron. Forrest didn't believe for a second that the mysterious organization would believe that they were dead even if the world did. After all, the rest of the world didn't know that the President had been freed or that the mine had been attacked and sealed. The Belkan puppeteers would know and they would draw the conclusion that Forrest and the rest were behind it.

'Please don't let this be a trap.'

"Wow, you're really here! Man, I can't believe it, it's just like he said!" There was a special emphasis that wasn't lost on anyone.

"He?" Edge repeated. "Who's this he?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Forrest answered. "What do you need….uh?"

"Oh, you can call me Alyosha. I can't tell you my real name obviously, but Alyosha can do for now! We're a group that doesn't like the government here in Yuktobania and we've managed to find a nuclear weapon that we have no clue where it came from. The problem is that we weren't discreet enough in our movements and…"

"The Yuke military is on to you right?" Chopper asked. "Man, what a rag-tag bunch of rebels."

"Be nice," Edge replied, hoping that Alyosha didn't hear.

"Well, he's right," Alyosha replied. "The military is on to us, and they're closing in. We've found the bomb, but now we need to disarm it so it doesn't go off for whatever reason. Just keep them off our backs so we can defuse the thing."

"Roger," Blaze answered as the five fighters approached a T-shaped turn in the canyon. "Alright, here's what we do, we're going to split the formation since this canyon is too narrow for all five of us at the same time. Edge, you and I'll go one way, Chopper, Robby, and Grimm go the other."

The five aircraft zipped into the canyon and split off and Blaze took the moment to look down at his radar. He didn't like what he saw. He was getting a whole load of false returns, even in air-to-air mode, which he supposed was the fault of the canyon's walls, which were on his level instead of being below him as they would be were he flying normally.

"Heads up Razgriz," he warned. "The radar's looking kinda sketchy now that we're in the canyon."

"No kidding," Chopper grumped. "We'd better not get bounced flying half-blind like this."

"This is Sky Eye, the picture has no new contacts present. There're some in the canyon, but they're more towards the north side than where you five are. I'll let you know if something comes up."

Edge tried to remain calm as the sandy tan and dark reds of the canyon flashed past her canopy. Already she'd loosened her formation with Blaze in an attempt to put some distance between her and her flight lead in the hopes that if he crashed or she hit the wall, they wouldn't both die.

"I hate flying in close quarters like this," she muttered into the radio, trying to keep her F-35 steady. The new fighter's fly-by-wire system was working against her now. The electronic control was too sensitive for this type of mission. Normally, it wasn't a problem and it was like flying in the Cessna 182 her uncle had taken her up in as a little girl when her family had gone to visit them in Usea. Now, with her body on hyper alert, every nervous twitch of her hand seemed to result in her fighter weaving all over the sky.

'Calm down, Edge,' she told herself, though it wasn't doing much good. Sure she'd flown through that cave, but she'd almost killed herself then too. 'Just calm down.'

"Take it easy Kei," Forrest said from in front of her, seeming to read her mind, "stay loose and use your peripheral vision to get an idea of where you're at inside the canyon."

"Hey, easy for you to say Kid," Chopper shot back, "you've done this kind of thing before and…SHIT! Where the hell did he come from!? Chopper, engaging!"

"Fighters? Here?" Edge asked. "How in the hell are we supposed to dogfight in this mess?"

Forrest grunted as they whipped around another corner, which turned out to be an S-turn in the canyon and forced them to reverse in the next half-second or be wall paste.

"I don't know," he answered. "I suppose we just have too…oh shit." The reason for the curse was clear. Forrest had caught sight of two silver shapes in the canyon ahead, shapes that were rapidly morphing into Typhoons by the second. "Blaze engage." He went to maneuver, then found that there wasn't enough room. Frustration, anger, fear, then determination all flooded his system one after another in the span of only a few milliseconds.

He was locked in a 600 mile per hour game of chicken and there was nothing he could do about it.

Robin Olds slashed through the canyon, hot on the tail of a fleeing Yuktobanian fighter that had apparently gotten lost and stumbled into him and the rest as Chopper had tried to shoot down the enemy fighters that'd come out of nowhere. It was when this second one had shown up that Chopper had made a daring decision, but it was probably the best one considering the situation.

He'd split the formation, allowing everyone to go their own way in an attempt to clear the sky of enemy fighters. That had paid off. Now Olds had the room to maneuver and actually put up a fight against this other pilot.

The pilot ahead was jinking wildly in Robby's canopy, but his eyes stayed locked onto the fleeing bandit with the tenacity of a hawk. He was trying hard to avoid looking too long at the speeding canyon walls, knowing that he would get unnerved at the sight. This portion of the canyon was too narrow for a Sidewinder shot, so it was looking more and more like Olds would have to take the guns kill.

His fingers danced on the HOTAS, setting himself up, the pipper moving wildly as the two aircraft ducked and rolled through the twisting corridors, coming sometimes within inches of slamming into the canyon walls and dying in a big explosion. Olds had gotten really cold when he thought he hear the faint scrape of his wings on the wall.

'I really don't need to be thinking about that right now,' he thought as he once again bore down on the fleeing Yuktobanian in front of him. The enemy flashed around the corner and vanished for the briefest of seconds, making Robby want to scream with frustration. With all this maneuvering, his aiming solution was getting trashed again and again. He knew at this rate, he would run out of fuel before he ran out of ammo.

Olds blasted around the corner himself and what he saw nearly killed him. The Typhoon he'd been chasing was nothing but an orange and red fireball, highlighted by twinkling shards of falling metal, which he went blasting through with no time to avoid, hearing the fragments skitter across his fuselage, his eyes automatically flicking to his status indicators and emergency indication lights. Nothing lit up, but that small reaction was what almost killed him.

When his view returned to the HUD and he looked outside, his blood ran cold and he almost pissed himself. Filling his canopy was Blaze's F-22, the two of them hurtling at each other straight on. Forrest thankfully reacted first, his nose beginning to pitch up. That was all Robby needed and he shoved his stick straight down, the two passing so close that Olds was jarred in his seat as he passed though Mobius 1's slipstream. He wasn't given any time to recover though, as the canyon demanded a harrowing S-turn right after that.

Blaze's heavy breathing came over the radio. "Damn Robby. Could you have cut that any closer?"

Olds didn't answer, he was too busy shaking and trying to get his heart rate back down to a normal range.

"This is Edge. Alyosha, how's the bomb coming?"

The resistance fighter's voice was subdued, quiet, as if he was afraid one loud noise could set off the bomb and kill them all. "We're about ready to start disarming it. It's so small. It must be a tactical nuke. Something like this can take out a whole city? That's pretty hard to believe."

"You'd be surprised how often it can be something small like that," Forrest said grimly. "Just hurry up and break it."

There was some nervous laughter from the other resistance men on the line. "Alright. Time to cut the trigger circuit."

Over the next ten minutes, the Razgriz patrolled the canyon, shooting down any aircraft that dared challenge them. There weren't many. Apparently the Yukes knew about the operation but didn't think it was anything worth thinking about. It made sense too. An update from Sky Eye had said that the Osean army was again pressing into Cinigrad. It was the fifth or sixth attempt in the last two weeks, but the Yukes were proving to be absolutely ferocious in their defense of the capital and nothing had changed. No wonder the Yukes' attention was elsewhere.

After scaring all the pilots out of their minds by almost dropping the bomb, Aylosha and his comrades were finally able to get to the wires that powered the bomb's ignition source.

"Thirty two wires," Forrest could hear the awe and almost hopelessness in the man's voice. "This is going to take a while."

"Calm down and get it right," Chopper grumped, a little angry at the resistance after the whole dropping scare. "We don't need to be blasted into next week because of some mistake."

"Y-Yeah," the man agreed, though all the pilots could hear the resistance fighter shaking even through the radio. If he cut the wrong wire in the wrong sequence the last thing Razgriz and Mobius would ever see was a flash of white right before they were consumed by the mushroom cloud and vaporized by the shockwave. Blaze wasn't an expert on nuclear weapons by any means. He made it a point to only know how to drop them, not how they worked. In his mind, the less he knew the better.

Over the next few agonizing minutes, wire by wire, the bomb was disabled. Once that was done, they would all be able to go home and get some rest, but all the pilots knew that they would be wired up on adrenalin for the next few hours. There was no telling when they would get to sleep, if they managed to drop off at all. Just when it looked like they were in the clear, Sky Eye had to go and ruin it all.

"Razgriz, Mobius, this is Sky Eye, four unidentified bandits closing in at Mach 2!"

"What!" Chopper almost shrieked, "Why now!?" The five planes emerged into the massive bowl that made up the center of the canyon. It was the most open space of the place, and the center where the resistance was currently working. Why the Yukes wasted their time going around the entire canyon when the resistance was right here mystified Blaze, even long after this whole adventure ended.

"Ah the memories," Forrest remarked sardonically at Sky Eye's report. "Takes you back doesn't it Robby?"

"Sure does," the other pilot agreed, "Though it takes me back to a nightmare."

"I hear you. Anyway, lets splash these guys and go home!" With that, the five jets split apart and headed for a different route of the canyon, looking for the bandits. While he zipped and cavorted through the maze of rock, Forrest clicked over to the intercepted comms frequency to see if he couldn't pick up on anything that might clue him in to who these guys were.

He got static for a second then a hard and cold voice came over his headset. It was the kind of voice that you didn't want to meet in a dark alley at midnight.

'Or a canyon in a fighter jet,' Blaze amended ruefully.

"Ofnir 4 to Ofnir lead, are you sure that's them in there? They're supposed to be dead! Didn't the Grabacr guys tell you that?"

The responding voice was equally cold and inspired a mental image of a severe-looking older man with cold, flinty eyes, slicked back hair, and a long and pointy face.

"Yeah, I heard alright. Supposedly, the Four Wings of Sand Island sank to the bottom of that ocean with their planes. But if that's true, then how was the President freed and how was our nuke warehouse at the Yering mine hit?"

"I don't know. Maybe Usito?"

The Ofnir leader snorted derisively. "That's not it. Haven't you seen the latest reports? Supposedly these attacks come from four black planes with red trim and eight gray jets."

"Gray jets? What're we dealing with here? Ghosts?" The man grunted a few moments later and Forrest supposed that they'd dropped below the canyon ridge and were now in the twisting maze.

'It's on now,' some part of him noted. He was too busy concentrating on not crashing and listening to the conversation to realize which part thought about it. The next part caught him totally off guard.

"No. Not ghosts. Remember that squadron that kept screwing with us a few months back?"

"Yeah."

"Supposedly, one of our pilots managed to make out an emblem on the jet. It was a blue ribbon that looked like a figure eight." There was a dumbstruck silence on the line after that and Forrest knew why. The emblem of Mobius Squadron was legendary, recognizable throughout the entire world and not just on the Usean continent.

"It can't be them. This isn't their territory!" One of the other pilots said dismissivly.

"Oh yes it can," The leader replied. "Remember who the lead of Wardog was…_is._"

"Brian Zachary Forrest, also known as Mobius 1," The same pilot replied, sounded almost awed.

"Yeah."

Forrest clicked back to the proper channel, knowing his words were probably about to be picked up by the Ofnir. "Mobius 1 to all planes. The target is a flight of Belkan fighter aces. Do not underestimate them."

Sky Eye got on the line next. "All aircraft be advised the canyon is returning too many signals and I can't filter it out enough. You're on your own. Don't worry, you are all faster than they are, you are all cleared to engage!"

Blaze and Robby grinned and replied quickly. "Mobius 1, Mobius 8, roger!"

Edge didn't sound quite so confident. "Razgriz 1, roger, now engaging the enemy."

Forrest blasted around and corner, saw two speeding Ofnir jets and felt his eyes narrow. It was now or never and there was no time to think about turning back. "Mobius 1, engaging."

Tracers shot from all three jets as they whipped past each other in a head-on merge, then, no one hitting, were past and away. Forrest put the thrust vectoring to work on his jet and flipped the Raptor onto its back, rolled level, and watched his airspeed indicator climb back up where it used to be. He'd lost precious seconds during the move and the Terminators had vanished around the bend he'd just come from, but within seconds, he was tearing off in pursuit, listening with half an ear for the other engagement calls. Robby and Chopper sent one and that was it.

'Split the flight,' Forrest thought as he caught sight of two aircraft whipping around a corner, which he went through a second later. He found himself in a long straight corridor and the Ofnir jets were dead ahead. "Mobius 1, Fox Two!"

The missile tore from the side bay like a bat out of hell and screamed off down the canyon, the rocket motor a bright flare in Forrest's canopy. It merged with one of the Terminators and he went up, turning into nothing but a fire ball, which Forrest blew through, then slammed into a left roll and pulled hard, zooming around a turn.

The other Terminator was nowhere in sight.

"Mobius 1, Splash One, lost the other guy."

Tracers spilled past his canopy a second after the phrase got out of his mouth. "Ah shit. Never mind. The second one's on me. Mobius 1, engaged defensive." The pair shot through the canyon like madmen, Forrest doing everything in his power to smash the other guy into the wall or into one of the bridges that spanned the maze in places. Forrest couldn't turn in his seat to see that other guy, not if he wanted to live at any rate, he had to hope that the other guy wouldn't get a lucky hit in on him.

"You're good," an unfamiliar voice in his ear said coldly.

"How'd you get this frequency!?" Forrest demanded, more frustrated and angry than shocked or scared.

"Please. Don't underestimate the Gray Men. It wasn't hard to get."

Forrest rolled on his back, ducked under another bridge and, inverted, flew around another corner, right as tracers again shot past him and made a cluster of explosions on the canyon wall. He rolled level and continued his mad dash to get away from the ace on his tail.

"So you really are _the_ Mobius 1, I can see your emblem. Hamilton really is an idiot of he wasn't able to make the connection between you and your Usean self."

Forrest got an idea. Talking to the enemy like this was a great chance for some psychological warfare. "Well admire all you want," Forrest said with a grin, "because Mobius 8 is about to splash your ass!"

"What!?"

Blaze didn't wait to see if the other guy had fallen for it or not, he rolled on his back and did a Split-S, blowing back past the Ofnir fighter, then pulled hard into an Immelman, getting on the other ace's tail.

"Bastard!"

"It's what you get for talking to the enemy," Forrest quipped, lining up his pipper. "See you around." The red stream lasted a second, no more, but that was enough and the left wing of the Terminator burst into flames then sheared right off. The ace inside the jet wasn't stupid and pulled the ejection lever without hesitation, getting clear right before the ejection would've thrown him into a wall and made pilot paste out of him.

Forrest slowed down, suddenly aware of his pounding heart and sweat soaked forehead. He raised his visor and wiped his forehead, then lowered it into place again and focused on the task at hand.

"Status."

"I'm in trouble!" Edge shouted, making Forrest's blood turn to ice. "He's on me and I can't shake him!"

'No! Not Edge! I won't lose her!' pounded through Brian's head, then he was gone, flying through the canyon, trying to get to Edge before the Ofnir could get to him.

On the other side of the maze, Edge was doing her best to ditch the guy behind her, but he was glued on her tail, a bulldog that refused to let go. The leader of the Razgriz prayed that Brian, Chopper, Grimm, Robby, _someone_, would save her and let her go home to the carrier in a jet and not a body bag.

"Damn!" She shouted out of anger as a trail of red rippled past her. She heard a dull clunk, like something had hit her with a sledgehammer, her F-35 wobbling like it'd been hit too. She looked out her canopy and saw a hole in her left wing, spewing oily black smoke. Thankfully, it hadn't hit anything major and no indicator lights were lit, which let her assume that the jet was still operable. "This is Edge, I'm hit but still good!"

"Hang tight Kei!" Forrest came back bracingly, a welcome sound to her ears. "I'm coming!"

"I'm coming too Edge," Grimm called. She assumed that Chopper and Robby Olds were still tied up with the other Ofnir pilot. While the other two pilots looked desperately for her, Edge was busy trying not to get shot down. She was using every trick she knew and even tried a few she'd seen Blaze do a few times, all to no avail. The Ofnir pilot stayed right where he was, on her dead six.

'And I'll be dead soon if nothing happens!' She thought ruefully.

An AMRAAM shot low over canopy and scared the other pilot into pulling up, releasing chaff. Right as he did, red death filled the space where he was about to go and the Terminator lit up like a Christmas tree as the tracers sparked upon hitting the fighter. A millisecond later the aircraft was blossoming into a flower of red, orange, and black.

An F-22 blew past Edge from head-on right after and a black F-35 passed from behind right after he did.

"Yeah!" Grimm crowed, a lot like Chopper would've, "That showed him! Are you alright Edge?"

Relief flooded her making Kei feel weak. "I am now. Thanks guys."

"No problem," Forrest answered easily, pulling up on her wing, though Edge smiled to herself as she heard the relief in his voice. He was probably even more worried about her than she was. "You sure you're fine?"

"Yeah. Just a little scare."

"Alright. Robby, how's it going?"

The Mobius ace grunted like he was in a high-g turn then responded. "Just fine. Splash that guy."

"Yeah man!" Chopper crowed. "We kicked their ass!"

An ominous voice came over the radio. "This isn't over, Razgriz Ghosts and Mobius Squadron. We'll be back!"

Chopper laughed at the threat. "Well bring it on!" He called back. "We'll shoot your ass down again!" The rest of the pilots laughed at that, knowing they shouldn't have. After all it might end up that they were the ones getting shot down. Such was war, but it was nice to have a release from the tension of the day.

"Alyosha," Forrest asked, "how's the disarmament coming?"

There was a snick and the resistance member sounded very relieved. "That's the last wire! This nuke is disarmed and now we can dispose of it."

"How will you do that?" Robby asked as they soared over the center of the canyon and the facility it held.

"Well, our escape ship is a submarine." Sensing the pilot's shock, he laughed gently. "Trust me, there's nothing we can't get our hands on." As if to emphasize his point, a submarine, and a good one too, though Blaze didn't recognize the class, pulled out from the submarine pen and began to submerge.

"Wait," Edge interrupted, "you mentioned earlier that someone said we were coming. Who told you that?"

Alyosha sounded thoughtful. "I don't know his name, but he left a message for your Captain. I have it here, give me a second." There was a rustling of paper then Alyosha read the message. "'Hey Kid, I hear you're one hell of a squad Captain now'. Does that mean anything to you?"

Electricity surged down the former Wardog pilots' spines. Only two people referred to Forrest as 'Kid' and one of them was in the air with them. That left…

"It couldn't be…could it?" Grimm asked. The others were daring to hope as well.

"It's the kind of thing he'd leave," Edge said, a distinct glow in her voice.

"Who is it?" Robby asked, totally lost. How did that obscure message mean anything to these guys?

"My old flight lead," Forrest replied.

"You mean the Old Man?" Robby asked. "I thought he retired!"

"Wrong flight lead," Blaze answered as they egressed from the canyon. "The one I had here in Osea. Captain Jack Bartlett."

"Wait, I've heard that name…Wasn't he some ace from the Belkan War?"

"Yeah. Heartbreak 1."

"I _have_ heard of him! He was supposed to be a big hotshot in an F-14!"

"That's the one." Edge told the Mobius pilot with pride.

"The rest of the story can wait until we get back home," Forrest broke in. "We're not out of the woods yet until we're over international waters."

With that, the five jets turned for home, feeling much happier than when they'd come. Bartlett was alive, knew what they were doing, and one of the nukes that'd gotten away was going to be dropped to the bottom of the sea.

It didn't get much better than that.

* * *

Well that's that. And damn is this long overdue. Sorry about that. My grades started slipping and I had to give up some stuff to try and pull them out. That's all over and done with though and now I can get back to writing. Hope none of you thought I was going to abandon my fic, especially since I promised way back that I wouldn't do it. I come from a house that says you should finish what you start and I'm going to do just that. Besides, we're close to the end, why would I quit now? On another note, this story is now a year old...jeeze hard to believe isn't it? I want to thank all you all for your reviews, both kind and critical. Even if I don't respond to them it doesn't mean I don't appreciate them. It just means that I don't have enough in the review to reply to. Well, that's all I've got.

Have a very Merry Christmas. Screw this Happy Holidays shit.


	23. Falling Symbols

Disclaimer: Own nothing

* * *

Pops was waiting back at the Kestrel, standing in a heavy parka on the flight deck when the fighters returned. He smiled as the low roar of jet engines slowly filled the air, growing louder with each passing second until the five jets became visible as black specks against the horizon that was awash with the lights of the setting sun. Two peeled away and turned onto another heading. That would be Forrest and Robby setting up for final approach onto the runway.

The other three looped around into a holding pattern above the Kestrel. The aging aviator watched with interest as Capt. Snow took his place in the LSO platform and powered up the meatball, a series of coded lights that told a pilot if he was too high on approach to the carrier or too low. First was Edge. The ball began to slide down the wave off lights until it lined up in the middle. With a screech of metal, rubber kissing flight deck, and the throaty roar of a jet engine, the F-35 flashed past before being slowed to a stop by the wires strung across the deck. Once she was clear, the deck was reset and Chopper came in, then Grimm. Once the fighters had parked and shut down, the pilots grouped in front of Chopper's plane, chatting animatedly about something.

Pops could see that whatever it was had them worked up into a frenzy.

"What's going on?" He asked, coming over to them.

"Pops!" Chopper exclaimed. "Man, you're not gonna believe it!"

The Belkan ace chuckled. "What won't I believe?"

"The Captain's alive!" The loud pilot shouted.

"Well I should hope so!" Pops answered, laughing again, gesturing to the runway, where Robby and Forrest were both walking back towards the Kestrel. "I watched him land!"

"Not that Captain," Edge cut in, since Chopper seemed almost ready to explode. "Captain Bartlett!"

Pops felt his jaw drop. "Are you sure? How'd you find out when the entire Osean military couldn't find him!?"

"We think he's working with the Yuktobanian resistance," Grimm answered. "At least, it sounds that way since the guy who helped us out with the mission."

Pops' face darkened as his senses caught up with his feelings. "It could be a trap. We know the Gray men are on to us. If they somehow infiltrated the resistance, they could set us up."

"How?" Edge asked.

"I don't know. Maybe lure us out into the old B7R airspace and ambush us with both Ofnir and Grabacr."

Before anyone could answer, Captain Anderson came out onto the flight deck, Captain Snow right behind him.

"Colonel," the old man said, "we have a problem. Where's General Forrest?"

"Right here," Blaze called as he and Robby finally got to the flight deck. "Is something wrong?"

The old fleet commander nodded. "Yes. We have a very serious situation on our hands."

A cold wind decided to whip across the deck, chilling everyone, but Blaze had a feeling that the ice in his gut had nothing to do with the outside temperature. "So what is it?" he asked.

The Captain turned and headed for the interior of the Kestrel. "Follow me. I want you to see this for yourself." The pilots looked at each other, puzzled, then looked at Pops, who shrugged and headed after the fleet commander. They followed the old sea dog through the ship until they reached the command bridge, where all the navigation and commands aboard the Kestrel were made.

"Captain on deck!" The Officer of the Deck barked as the group trooped into the crowded space. There were only a few men on watch, since the Kestrel wasn't at sea or in combat there wasn't a need for the full bridge crew.

"Thanks Reed," Anderson replied. "Give me the room." If the officer found anything odd about the order, he didn't show it. He simply gestured to the other men on the bridge and they followed after him. The Captain waited until the sound of their footsteps faded down the corridor before pulling a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it to Forrest.

The ace unfolded the paper and looked at it, the other pilots looking over his shoulder. There was only a single line of text on the sheet, and it was clearly a code of some kind.

"N-attack by A-sat to take place on Oktohursk at 1400 hours," he read aloud. The paper was devoid of a timestamp, a place of origin, or any other identifying features. He looked at Anderson, who simply stared back. "Where'd we get this?"

"Andromeda," the man answered. "It was intercepted just before you guys got back. I have an idea on what it means, but I want to hear your input before I go anywhere."

"Well some city is going to get hit at 2:00 p.m.," Chopper said, stating the obvious first. The captain nodded.

"The name of the city isn't Osean," Forrest added. "I've heard of it. It's a big metropolis on the northeast coast of Yuktobania, just outside the areas of the country Osea has occupied. Supposed to be the center of Yuktobania's commercial shipping industry."

Anderson nodded for them to continue. Blaze could see the old man had a rough idea of what the meaning of the message was but he either wanted another opinion, or the meaning was so horrible he had to hear it from someone else.

"N-attack…" Kei murmured. She blinked, looking alarmed. "Does that mean nuclear attack!?"

"If it does," Grimm piped up, "then there's only one kind of A-sat that I know of that's capable of making it."

There was a stunned silence then Pops said what everyone was thinking. "So this means that Arkbird is back online, and if this is right, it means that the Gray Men have control of it and they're going to use it to nuke a city of millions in Yuktobania."

"Well, we know that at least two nukes got past us on the Yering raid," Forrest said, making a fist and crushing the paper with the code. "The one in Yuktobania was dismantled and destroyed today and I'll be willing to be the resistance will have shot the remains all over the sea floor by now."

"So that just leaves the one in Osean hands," Anderson finished. "Now I'm convinced. You four just reached the same conclusion that I did after thinking about the message." The Kestrel's captain looked at Pops. "Colonel, I suggest that we find everything out about the Arkbird that we can. If we're going to strike at it, we need to know when its at its most vulnerable."

Pops nodded and swept from the bridge.

"Kei," Blaze said sharply, "go with him. You're the closest thing we have to an expert on it. Any input you have for Pops would be good." Nagase didn't waste any time in trotting after the Colonel. The ace pilot pinched his nose. "Oh brother. Just one thing after another."

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax Kid!" Chopper said brightly. "You're Mobius 1, remember? There's no flying machine around that you can't shoot down!"

Forrest chuckled dryly. "Thanks Chopper," he muttered. "But this isn't an airplane. I've never gone up against a spacecraft before." He left the bridge, head whirling with ideas and tactics, each one more unlikely to succeed than the last. Before the ace knew it, he was standing at the door to the plot room, a few decks down from the bridge. Kei and Pops were inside, pouring over printouts of news articles and blueprints of the Arkbird, copied from the Internet. Blaze stood in the corner, content to watch the two work feverishly to try and figure out a way to shoot down the Arkbird.

"Anything yet?" He asked softly when the two's mutterings subsided for a second and Pops stretched his back, the pops of his spine cracking audible even in the corner across the room.

The balding Belkan rubbed the back of his neck, rolling it to try and loosen it up. "Not really. We know where and when to hit it, but just not how."

"Tell me what you have so far," Forrest insisted. Kei motioned him over to the table. She pointed to a section at the back of the Arkbird.

"This is its weakest point," she said matter-of-factly. "These are its combined cycle engines, and they're the way the Arkbird generates the thrust it needs to leave the atmosphere once its course corrections are done and over with."

"So we shoot a bunch of Sidewinders into the engines?" the other ace asked. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"Sort of," Pops answered. "The problem is that we don't know how hot the engine gasses are. This thing's engines make plumes of flame so long and so hot that the seeker head on the missile might misread it as being within range and detonate the warhead prematurely."

Forrest rubbed his temples. "Alright," he sighed, trying to ward off the impending headache that he could feel coming on. "We'll come back to that. Kei, how about even getting to the Arkbird to attack it? Can we do that?"

Nagase was hesitant. "Well," she said slowly, dragging the word out, "when it's at altitude, that is out of the question, but we already knew that. The only time its vulnerable is when it's in the atmosphere making the change. It does that fairly high up, around the altitude an SR-71 typically flies at."

"How long does it take to alter the orbit?"

"Three minutes on average. It might be more or less, depending on how deep the Arkbird is and how big the orbital correction is."

Forrest pointed to the map showing the Arkbird's target. "How long would we have if it's attacking here?"

Pops turned to a display that was showing a diagram of the planet as a Mercator Projection. A squiggly green line was superimposed over the map. On that green line was a white cross. "This is showing the last known position and orbit of the Arkbird as of about twelve hours ago."

Blaze was stunned. "How'd we get this?" He asked.

Both Nagase and Pops grinned mischievously. "The ground team that's with the President right now. We had them hack into the Space Agency's computers and grab the first map of the Arkbird's location they found. Thankfully, it was a fairly recent one. The techie with the team left a backdoor into the system so we can update ourselves just before you guys launch on the mission."

The former Wardog commander whistled. "Damn, and I thought that the Space Agency's computers would be better protected than this."

"It's really just a screenshot put on a database for later reference," Edge told him. "Those things really aren't that secure."

"So," Blaze said, getting the conversation back on track, "where is it now and how long do we have." He could see with a glance that the current orbit was nowhere near the Yuktobanian city. As a matter of fact, its current orbit took the superweapon straight over Comberth Harbor in Usea. The ISAF ace couldn't help but wonder if that was deliberate. A warning from the Gray Men, but he knew it was only coincidence. After all, the shady band of men were interested in the Belkan War, not the Continental War.

Nagase pointed to a point on the map. "It's here, right near Usea, heading in towards Ustio. We think that if it wants to make a fast correction and then get back to altitude, it'll do it around in this area." She pointed to a spot about three hundred miles off Cape Landers, that fateful battlefield where they'd intercepted the SR-71, seemingly a lifetime ago. "After the change, it can climb back into orbit and make a conventional, horizontal bombing run, or it can release during the climb and toss-bomb."

"Toss-bomb close to a thousand miles? Maybe more?" Forrest repeated incredulously.

Pops looked grim. "This is a spacecraft we're talking about Brian. The usual distances and limits don't apply here."

The ace looked grim. "How long do we have?"

"Well, the orbit change is going to be huge, so probably longer than the usual three minutes. We think five minutes," Edge told him.

"Five minutes. Five minutes to destroy one of the greatest symbols of peace in the world." No one in the room looked like they appreciated that thought. "When's it going to happen?"

"The day of the attack," Pops said with certainty. "The Gray Men don't want the Yukes to know the Arkbird is back online. Any weird changes could clue in the Yuktobanian High Command. Don't forget the Yukes helped build the thing. They'll have monitors watching the thing every second of the day."

"We'd better be in position before then."

"No kidding."

"Everyone gets the air superiority loadout," the General said. "Bombs would be useless here, never mind getting them on target with any degree of accuracy."

"I'll tell the red shirts," Pops replied, referring to the color-coded shirts the carrier's crew wore to denote their jobs. Red handled the ammunition and loading of the weapons onto the aircraft.

"Let's go brief the wing," Forrest said to Nagase, who nodded and collected her charts and blueprints then followed him to the galley where the wing was hanging out and playing everything from card games to Clue. "Hey! Everybody listen up!" When he had everyone's undivided attention, he and Nagase began to outline the plan.

* * *

"Kid," Chopper said as he took off from the Kestrel's number three catapult the day of the attack, "you've had some weird and crazy ideas, but this one takes the cake."

Mobius 1 was already in the air, circling high overhead as the rest of the fighter wing launched and caught up with him and the already-assembled Mobius Alpha. "I don't like it anymore than you do Chopper," he answered, voice grim, "but it's really the only plan we have."

"No better than the crazy ideas you came up with to take out Megalith," Chuck grumped from his place in the number four position off Z's wing.

"You have a better plan?" Forrest shot back.

The gruff pilot laughed. "Nope, that's why you're in charge Boss!" Soon enough, the twelve planes were assembled and winging their way towards the Arkbird's projected descent point. They hadn't been on station more than ten minutes when Sky Eye came up on the radio, sounding excited and tense all at the same time.

"Attention all aircraft, new contact detected about three miles east of you, altitude 50,000. No doubt about it. It's the Arkbird, all aircraft are to intercept it and shoot it down."

"Fifty-thousand?" Chopper almost shrieked. "Damn can we even make it that high!?"

"No idea," Blaze answered, "but we have to try. If we don't millions will die and the war will involve everyone, from Osea to ISAF. We cannot let this slip by!" Mobius 1's Raptor pitched up to a high angle, twin flames leaping from the back of the aircraft at the aircraft's afterburners came to life, thrusting the sleek fighting machine up into the sky. The rest of the wing followed and soon all three flights were climbing like bats out of hell, going to heaven to shoot down an angel.

"Come on, baby, come on," the ace crooned to his plane as they soared ever higher, the sky darkening as they approached the edge of the atmosphere. If the Arkbird didn't get any lower then they were going to be in real trouble, since they were approaching the edge of their aircraft's ceiling. Soon they would be at the bare edge of where they could fly. It would be physically impossible to go any higher.

"There it is!" Grimm shouted. He was right. The Arkbird was within visual range in the dark navy-blue sky, a huge white sled that could carry everything from space station supplies to a nuke. That was what it was carrying now, and they had to stop it.

"Not in range yet," Forrest snarled. "We can't get much higher than this."

A puff of white smoke suddenly sprayed from the side of the Arkbird and all twelve fighters rolled and jinked, their reflexes on hair triggers since they didn't know what they would be up against. Then Nagase caught sight of the conical capsule, a throwback to the old Apollo days.

"It's a capsule!" She reported.

"Look!" Hawkeye called. "The Arkbird's getting really low!" The sharp-eyed pilot was right. The white spacecraft was diving deeper into the atmosphere, the hull beginning to glow a little as it sliced through denser and denser air. The Arkbird was slowing down, allowing the group of aces to catch up to it as it slid lower and lower. In less than two minutes, it was underneath them and still descending.

"That's way too low for an orbit change," Nedivi said aloud.

"Well I'm not gonna bitch about it," Mobius 1 answered. "Let's get it!"

"Roger!" The flights split, a swarm of mosquitoes trying to attack a huge hippo. But, Forrest reminded himself, mosquitoes didn't have explosive warheads.

"Mobius 3, Fox Three!"

The ventral bay of Z's F-22 snapped open, ejecting a single AMRAAM that shot off after the Arkbird, the radar inside the missile having no trouble tracking the massive target. The Slammer struck, a small puff of orange and black against a huge plain of white.

"Didn't do much good," Snow observed.

Forrest switched to the Osean frequency. He smiled beneath his mask as he noted the panicked note in the Belkan astronaut's voices.

"Damn, what was that explosion!?"

"Did that Osean bastard leave us another surprise?"

"No. Look! The external cameras! Eight gray planes with Ribbon insignias and four black and red ones!"

"It's them! The Ribbon and the Ghosts of Razgriz!"

"Shit. Launch the back up!"

"Roger."

Blaze was back on the wing's frequency. "Heads up! We're gonna have company!" A bay on Arkbird's belly opened up and three objects fell clear. The ace did a double take when he saw just what had fallen out.

Three Terminators with gray and white digital camouflage bodies and yellow wingtips and bellies were plunging at the ocean sparkling below, but as the three flights watched, engines came to life and afterburners lit.

"Blaze!" Edge shouted as the three planes began to level off then climb back up to altitude.

"I see them I see them! Shit. That's unbelievable. They hid Yellow Squadron inside the Arkbird!"

"What do we do General?" Grimm asked.

"Shooting down Arkbird will be tough with Yellow Squadron on our tails," Eddie said, sounding rather nervous. He hated fighting the Erusian aces, mostly because of that stall maneuver they were so fond of. Even Forrest had trouble with it sometimes.

"Mobius 2 through 8 will cover the Razgriz as they shoot down the Arkbird, assisting whenever possible. I'll take on the Yellows." Before anyone could protest, Mobius 1's Raptor flipped inverted and dove on the climbing Terminators, who scattered, trying to get out of his gunsights as the ace flashed past.

"Blaze wait!" Edge shouted as she watched the three Terminators turn back on her flight lead, keeping him cornered as they took pass after pass at him. "Damn him! Edge engaging!"

"No!" Eddie called. "Let him be. He's opening up the Arkbird for assault, so we need to hit it now."

"But…"

"Nagase," Chopper broke in. "It might take all of our missiles to bring this guy down. If one plane is all it takes to keep the Yellows away, then I'm all for it!"

The woman bit her lip as she watched tracers come within inches of Blaze's Raptor. She didn't watch to see how long it took him to get out of the situation. She had more important things to do, as much as she hated to admit it.

"Nagase!"

Kei felt something within her steel. "Roger. Engage the Arkbird!" She locked on to the massive engines that were powering the machine through the atmosphere. It was taking on a higher pitch angle and she knew that they didn't have a lot of time to sink it. "Fox Two!"

A missile dropped from her F-35's bay, the weapon that could bring down a bomber looking pathetic as it raced for the huge white sled she'd targeted. Almost simultaneously, the rest of the Razgriz and Mobius Squadron followed her lead, letting fly with their own missiles. A multitude of explosions rippled across the Arkbird's two combined cycle engines, but it didn't look like anything had happened. The machine kept climbing.

"Damn," Snow cursed. "Looks like this thing will be harder to bring down than we thought."

"And we knew it wasn't gonna be easy to begin with," Eddie added, the ace disappointed at just how little damage they'd done to the thing. Black shaped began dropping from the Arkbird. "Heads up! Mobius 2, tally-ho on some new targets!"

"Oh great," Chopper moaned, "More Yellows?"

"No!" Grimm answered. "They're UAVs!"

"Scratch that," Chuck said grimly as they watched the drones pull up into them. "They're UCAVs."

Tracers flew from the new arrivals up towards the attacking fighters. At the same time, there was a flash below the massive sled and a huge, thick, beam of light slashed the air in two.

"The laser's back online," Edge observed wryly. "But I guess we should have expected that."

Eddie stepped up. "Mobius Alpha will engage the UCAVs. Bravo is to stay and back up the Razgriz who will continue to attack the Arkbird. Alpha, used cannons and BFM only!"

"Askin' an awful lot," Z answered as the three fighters diverged. The other ace laughed.

"I know, but impossibility is our specialty!"

"I hear that," Yeager answered. "Mobius 4, engaging!"

"Mobius 2 engage."

"Mobius 3, engage."

Sky Eye came on the radio. "All units, this is Sky Eye. The Arkbird's speeding up. It's trying to make a run for it. Splash it immediately!"

"Edge copy. Fox Two!"

Again a Sidewinder dropped from her bay, again copied by the remaining fighters. The hail of weapons flashed through the air, exploding like deadly fireworks across the Arkbird's hull. This time they got a result. The left engine tore itself to pieces, spewing shiny metal and flames everywhere. Thick black smoke began to stream out behind the white sled, the machine slewing dangerously through the sky, wobbling like a drunken elephant.

It was an extremely sad sight, brought on by war. Edge couldn't help herself. She'd been obsessed with the machine as a child, and even now, she still harbored the dream of one day getting to fly into space on the majestic white bird, but now it looked like that wasn't going to happen.

"Mobius 1, splash one!"

Edge risked a brief look and saw Forrest far below them, pulling away from a curl of smoke and flames, two other planes hot on his tail. How he'd managed to shoot down one of the Terminators while being pursued by two others was a mystery to her. Then again, she wasn't surprised. Forrest did things to his Raptor that made it dance like no one else could. How he did half the things he did would still by a mystery to her long after the war was over.

"Swordsman, Fox Three!"

An AMRAAM dropped from the fourth Wardog jet, the brightly burning motor giving off no smoke. Within seconds, the bright white flare was lost against the equally white Arkbird. An explosion lit up the sky as the Slammer found its mark, but again, nothing happened. Edge wanted to scream. At this rate they would be pounding at the machine all day but nothing would happen to it. So, she decided to turn her attention to another, softer, target; The laser that was mounted to the underside of the Arkbird.

The emitter for the beam of light was in a massive cylinder with a convex lens. The whole contraption was mounted on a gimbal that could swivel every which way, the gimbal in turn attached to a sleek oval pedestal that held it to the ship. Edge's cannon came to life, the stream of red bullets peppering the lens, which was beginning to glow like a match, a prelude to it opening fire. When Kei's cannon finally stopped, almost out of ammunition, the lens was pockmarked by small craters, the results of her high explosive shells hammering the apparatus.

She pulled up right as the laser fired. The stream of light almost blinded her as it came within feet of cooking the belly of her Lightning, and her along with it, but the laser shone for only a second or two before the lens, heated and strained by the laser, shattered.

The laser winked from existence, no longer able to fire.

"Edge here, laser disabled."

Again the Arkbird lurched as another explosion rocked her.

"Chopper here! The other engine's gone!"

Whoops filled the radio as the aces began celebrating. It wasn't done yet, Edge knew, the Arkbird had yet to light its final engine, used for emergencies, but that was the only one left. Once that one was shot to pieces, then the Arkbird would vanish for all time. Now the huge white satellite was nothing but an oversized glider. Edge and the Razgriz moved into position along side Mobius Bravo and got ready to fire the final volley.

* * *

Eddie grunted as he and the other three Raptor screamed through a steep turn, trying to stay with the UCAVs that were proving unusually tenacious in managing to keep them guessing and staying out of gun range. They were too close to use missiles and the rockets wouldn't have tracked the target anyway.

'Talk about a knife fight in a phone booth,' the ace thought to himself as the drone in front of him made some spectacular moves that he as a human couldn't hope to match. Besides, the UAV was smaller and lighter than he was, so it was able to do more acrobatic maneuvers. The only thing that he had going for him was that the UCAVs were able to carry a single missile apiece and a cannon. The missiles had already been fired and evaded, which left the gun.

The ace smiled as one crossed right over his gunsight. The smile vanished almost instantly as the machine kicked over and dove away, becoming a dark dot against the sea in seconds. Eddie tried not to scream out his frustrations.

Red tracers flew from the right, smashing the UAV that the three of them had been chasing.

Mobius 1's Raptor dropped into formation beside them.

"Need some help?" he asked casually.

"Where'd the Yellows go?" The other ace asked.

They could hear the laughter in his voice. "Last I checked, on their way for a little swim." When Eddie looked around, there was no sign of the three Terminators. He whistled.

"Damn Boss, it took you longer over Farbanti. How'd you shoot two of them down in what, less than two minutes?"

"Classified," he answered with a small laugh. The four Raptors turned into another UAV that tried to lead them back towards the other dark triangle. They weren't having any of it though and just circled protectively, a moving barrier that shielded the others from attack. "Kei, how are we doing?"

* * *

"Better," She muttered. "The combined-cycle engines are gone and so is the laser. Now we just have to get it to fire its last engine."

"Last engine?!" Chopper repeated. "How many does this POS have?!"

"Just the one. It's last resort. If we can smash that one then the Arkbird will fall into the ocean."

"Well hurry it up," Yeager remarked bluntly, "because those damn UAVs are coming back again!" The flight split, two to a drone, the best way they'd found so far to deal with the agile little things. With Forrest on their side again, it was far easier to keep each other covered and before long, one of the drones was going down in flames while the other got itself four good F-22 pilots on its tail.

"Hey Kid," Chopper called, voice conveying his grin, "When we get back to the Kestrel, we're gonna sing 'Predator Eulogy'!" Forrest didn't have time to answer the other pilot but a thought along the lines of 'wise ass' crossed his mind. Chopper apparently caught on to his commander's feelings because he was cracking up not too long after Forrest had thought that.

While Mobius Alpha was embroiled in a dogfight against one UAV, the Arkbird was getting low over the ocean. The Belkans at the controls decided that there was nothing left to do but to fire the main engine and hope that the Razgriz wouldn't be able to shoot them down. The huge sled pitched onto its tail, the back end spilling an enormous tongue of flame that stretched the thousand feet or so down to the ocean, the surface roiling as the displaced air slammed into it, the waters hissing as the surface turned to steam.

"That's it, it's on its last legs," Nagase set, heart heavy as she locked on and got ready to squeeze the trigger. "Damn, why did it have to be the Arkbird of all things?"

"It's war, Nagase," Grimm said gently, "and this is what it leads to."

"We have no choice," Snow added, "there will be other Arkbirds. The lives this thing will destroy cannot be rebuilt."

"Yeah. Edge, Fox Three."

"Chopper, Fox Three."

"Archer, Fox Three!"

"Swordsman, Fox Three."

The weapons dropped from the bays of the four black Joint Strike Fighters and flashed through the sky to the sleek white machine that was just beginning to overcome gravity and climb back towards where it belonged. The missiles slammed into the Arkbird's tail. The moment the last explosion had blossomed, small fired erupted all over the Arkbird's rear section, spreading rapidly up the spacecraft as the exploding fuel and whatever other combustibles were on board consumed it. The fighter wing looped away from the failing machine, climbing above it to watch its final death throes, the remaining UAV, which had given even Mobius Squadron a run for its money, tumbling out of control as its signal was lost.

Up until the last minute, the remaining engine burned bright, scorching the sea, but it finally gave out, sputtering to a stop. For a split second, the Arkbird hung suspended in the air, pointing straight up, as if still trying to break free of gravity and climb to space. Then gravity took over and, with metallic creaking that was audible even through the racket of jet engines, thick canopies, and ear-plugged ears, the majestic white bird, which at its unveiling had been heralded as a bird of peace, plunged into the sea, a massive white spray climbing high into the air.

To everyone in the three flights of aircraft, it was the funeral shroud for the machine that all of them had in some way or another admired. The sound of a muffled concussion echoed over the empty slate-gray sea, and a second pillar of white sea spray shot into the sky as the nuke onboard the Arkbird, or something that was just as powerful, detonated, shredding the sinking spacecraft.

Unlike the victories over the Scinfaxi and Hrimfaxi, this time there was no jubilant celebration or whoops of victory. The pilots knew that they had just destroyed one of the world's most treasured symbols and they wondered how it was going to affect the war from here. Would it expedite the end? Or would the warring countries simply blame each other and fight even more ferociously?

For the pilots, the war was about to take an unexpected turn, one for the better, and it would be initiated by an old friend by the name of Jack Bartlett.

* * *

Sorry this was so late. My flight instructor decided to swamp me with three cross country flight plans that had to be done within a few days of each other. For those of you who may not know how much work goes into making a flight plan, let me tell you, be glad you don't. It makes the work you get from other classes in college look light. I know that this was kind of lacking in action, but aside from introducing Yellow Squadron again, there wasn't much I could do. The next one will be better though. It has to be, it's Bartlett's return after all.

**UCAV:** Unmanned Combat Air Vehicle. A UAV with teeth.

**Predator Eulogy: **A song by Dos Gringos that makes fun of the UAV program in general. It makes my day, since I hate the UAVs with a burning passion.


	24. The Return

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

AT LONG LAST I HAVE RETURNED!!!

* * *

Close to a week passed after the shoot-down of the Arkbird with no new missions for any of the pilots. Slowly, cabin fever began to take hold on everyone associated with the rogue fighter wing and the missions they were performing. From the Captain of the Kestrel down to the lowest of the carrier's sailors, everyone began to get irritable and frustrated with boredom, fatigue, and more importantly, each other. Even the daily PT that the pilots had decided to start doing didn't help matters any.

Forrest was in his cabin, running a white towel through his hair as he had just come from a shower after the pilots' daily workout, when the phone in his cabin suddenly began to buzz.

"Forrest," he said, picking up the receiver that functioned as both a standard telephone and an intercom for the ship. Pops was on the other end.

"Kid," the elder ace said, "we've got something new from Andromeda."

"More lat longs?" Mobius 1 asked, using the abbreviations for latitude and longitude.

"Not this time. It's just a day and time." Elation flooded the ace. Finally, they would be getting some action, something to break up the monotony of daily life. This dull routine was exactly the reason Forrest had gone to the Osean military in the first place after he'd emigrated from ISAF. After all the excitement of the high-speed high-adrenalin environment inside a fighter's cockpit, the prospect of dressing nicely to go work in a faceless business and do something that couldn't even compare to flying as high and fast as you could was so unappealing to the fighter ace that even thinking about it made his stomach lurch.

"Anything else?"

"Nope," Pops replied. "Well, I shouldn't say that. It also says that we should be near a radio when the time comes."

"What do you think it means?"

"I think it means," Pops said slowly, "that Bartlett might be contacting us directly." Forrest's heart gave a little leap at the news. No one on the Kestrel really believed that the mysterious source that had been giving could possibly be Bartlett, but then again, how could it _not_ be? After all, he was the only man who really knew Wardog, or the pilots who used to call themselves Wardog at least, knew the frequencies for the Osean military bands, _and _was currently MIA.

"Roger that," Forrest answered. "I'll let the guys know." He hung up, pulled on an olive drab flight suit that was still warm from a cleaning, then jogged down the hall, going for the mess, where the pilots liked to hang out when they had nothing better to do. He grinned when he saw the duct tape sign over the doorway. The silver tape had been written on in sloppy handwriting in black marker. If the ace had to guess, he would say that it was either Chopper or Eddie's doing.

The sign read 'Warning: Cranky pilots. Enter at own risk'.

Just as the tape notice foretold, the mood inside was distinctly sullen, with no one talking to each other, all absorbed in their own distractions, though Brian didn't miss the glazed look in most of their eyes.

"Hey Kid," Chopper muttered. "Come to join in the boredom?"

"Actually," the ace said slowly, as if hesitating about telling them all something that could take their minds off of their slow descent into insanity, "I was wondering how you all would like to come up to the bridge tomorrow at 1015."

"What's so important about the bridge?" Edge asked sullenly. She'd been even more snappish than the rest of them, though she'd managed to tone it down around Forrest. That didn't make him immune to it though and they'd had a bad shouting match about nothing earlier in the week.

Blaze wondered how they would take this. "Well, I just heard from Pops. Bartlett may be giving us a call tomorrow." Everyone was instantly alert and focused. The fighter pilot couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Are you serious!?" Grimm and Chopper shouted together.

"Capt. Bartlett?" Edge repeated, stunned. "When did you say it was?"

Forrest repeated the time.

"Dammit!" Chopper moaned, "Tomorrow can't come fast enough!"

* * *

When the day finally came, the four original Wardog pilots crowded around the radio like kids fighting for a piece of candy from the candy store. They were a good half hour early and each pilot kept flicking glances up at the clock that hung on the bridge's back wall. Forrest thought that the hand would never reach the appointed time. Ironically, right as he thought that, the hand clicked over and the speaker blared to life.

"Hey! It's me!" The voice was unmistakable. It was the gruff, tough-as-nails, and somewhat crotchety fighter pilot that Forrest had flown with all those months ago at the beginning of the war. It seemed like halfway to forever since it had happened, since the shootdown that had thrust him from being Brian Forrest, nugget, to being Brian Forrest with the flight to command. "Get the wax out of your ears and listen up!"

The ace grinned. _Only _Bartlett could be that candid in everyday speech. From the way Kei suddenly grabbed his hand, she was thinking the same thing and a quick glance showed him right off that bat that the other pilots from the original group were feeling similar. They were all grinning like idiots and even Chopper's eyes were a little wet.

"We found Nikanor, the Prime Minister of Yuktobania. This war wasn't his doing at all." Bartlett went on to outline how the war had really gotten started, as a ploy by the Gray Men in Belka to plunge both superpowers into a war that would bankrupt them both and possibly drag the rest of the world into it too. He also said how he'd somehow ended up with the rebels inside Yuktobania and they were planning an operation to bust out the captured leader.

"That's where you guys come in," Bartlett went on. They were still trying to figure out if this was a recording or if it was real. "We're gonna need air support if we wanna get this operation off the ground in one piece. In one hour, we'll send you the coordinates for the place and the time we expect you. It's gonna be an early one, so set your alarm clocks, kiddies." The pilots laughed. Heartbreak One hadn't changed at all, it seemed.

"You heard him. We'll get the jets set and prepped then we'll hit the sack," Forrest said. "Pops, can you and Capt. Anderson get the right loadout for us?"

The two men nodded then put their heads together and started murmuring to each other. By the time the sun was setting over the chilly northern sanctuary, the jets were set and the pilots were hitting the hay.

* * *

It seemed to Forrest that by the time his head hit the pillow, his alarm was going off. He blinked blearily as he sat up. He stumbled out into the corridor, not aware that his hands were busy zipping up his flight suit. However, though Brian Forrest was not a morning person by any means, he was awake by the time he reached the briefing room, almost five minutes later. It seemed that the rest of the wing wasn't too happy about being up either. Eddie and Chopper's heads were together and both of them were snoring like logs. Edge's hair was disheveled for the first time Brian could remember, and Grimm had the look of someone keeping their eyes open against their will. Edge gave Forrest a small smile as he sat down next to her, right behind Chopper and Eddie. The ace exchanged glances with Nagase, then calmly raised one foot and gave both chairs a firm kick. The two sleeping men were thrown out of their seats, swearing and shouting threats.

"What the Hell!" They demanded at once, shaking their fists at Blaze and Edge, both of whom were cracking up, along with the rest of the wing.

"Sleep later, boys," Forrest said, still chortling. "We gotta job to do."

"The good General's right," Pops said, coming into the room. The second he was standing in front of them, all hints of tiredness were gone. There was nothing among the pilots that hinted they were all bone-dead tired. Low blood pressure, Kei decided, was a bitch. "We do have work to do," the older ace went on, "Now listen up. Capt. Bartlett has apparently found the location of Nikanor, the PM for Yuktobania. That said, he's partnered with the resistance forces in that country to help bust the leader out and he's called on us for air support."

"So who's doing what?" Eddie asked.

"Mobius Alpha will be top cover. Mobius Bravo will be flying with a mixed loadout of SDBs and Sidewinders. The Razgriz will have a similar loadout. We anticipate heavy action for all three flights as they make their ingress."

"And since this is Nikanor we're talking about," Blaze murmured, "you can bet we'll probably have some stiff air resistance too. Maybe Grabacr?"

"Ofnir and a mixed formation of the two is a distinct possibility and let's not forget that there is still a Yellow Squadron pilot floating around," Pops added. "All told, they could put up a significant number of aircraft that are able to give even the Kid here a run for his money. Which is why we're imposing some Rules of Engagement on you."

"What are they?" Forrest asked, holding up a hand, forestalling the mutinous murmurings that had broken out among the pilots. Up till now, they'd pretty much had free run of the sky when it came to the dogfight. If it wasn't friendly, shoot at it was what they had been flying under until this point.

"It's that you're to stick to your assigned roles. I know that you're used to darting all over the place, doing whatever you need to. This time, you don't do that. The ground targets are what we need to strike, to clear the way for Capt. Bartlett's convoy. Once the way is clear, they're going to highjack a C-130 and fly out, where you will provide escort and air cover. Don't be heros, get in, get out, and get it done. The PM takes priority without him, this entire thing is a moot point." He looked sternly around at the pilots that were normally used to doing things their own way. Some looked mutinous, but for the most part he saw quiet acquiescence. These were men and women who were famous for getting the job done and doing it right. "Ready?"

"Yes sir," Forrest answered, standing up, the rest of the group following his lead. They saluted each other and the ace turned to his men. "Alright. You heard Pops, let's get going!" The group stood in a flurry of olive drab, heading for the ready room. Soon they were in their jets and heading out over the sea, going for the site in Yuktobania where the Prime Minister was located.

* * *

Some hours later, the sun was just rising over the horizon when the three flights arrived on scene. Below them was an inhospitable landscape with rising and rolling crags and spires of rock. Mesas and plateaus abounded and in the middle of it all wound a network of roads, with bypasses that would take the convoy around most of the stiff resistance. Forrest was already contemplating how they could get the convoy down those shortcuts without using too much ammo or fuel.

From the ground, the twelve jets looked like nothing more than black dots against a lightening sky, the roar of the engines barely audible in the oppressive silence of the high desert.

In his cockpit, Forrest looked down at the clock on the panel of his jet. It was close to the appointed time. His gaze wandered out the canopy of his F-22 and below him he spotted a small line of dark dots at the head of a column of dust. He was almost sure that those were Bartlett and the resistance. He angled for the deck, the others following his lead as they swept low over the road, roaring over the cars as the occupants waved up enthusiastically. Forrest, in the brief seconds he had, counted close to twenty armored vehicles, humvees of all shapes and sizes, from troop carriers to an anti-aircraft version, with eight small missiles for shooting down harassing aircraft.

"Quite a force," Eddie remarked as the twelve zoomed skyward again, beginning to circle the resistance forces. "All for just one man."

"Well he is the Prime Minister," Grimm reminded the other pilot. "I wouldn't take any chances either."

"The kid's right," Yeager grunted from his place at the back of the formation. "The entire war might hinge on this mission."

"Agreed," Edge broke in, "we can't let this mission be the one we fail."

The radio took that moment to crackle with an incoming transmission.

"Well well," said a familiar voice that brought a smile to Forrest's face behind the oxygen mask. It was Jack Bartlett. There was no doubting that gruff and rough voice. "It's about time you guys showed up."

"Captain!" Edge cried, the relief evident in her voice. For the longest time, she'd believed that she'd been responsible for the gruff man's predicament, because of her ineptitude he'd been forced to take the missile hit that would've been meant for her.

"Nagase? Is that you?" Bartlett's voice was surprised, but everyone who'd flown with the man knew that he was only teasing. He was just as happy to see them as they were to see him. "You still fly like that and you're not dead yet?"

"No sir!"

"Good to hear."

"Hiya Captain!" Chopper broke in.

"Hey Rock 'n Roller," Bartlett answered. Forrest could almost see the grin on the old salt's face. "Have you learned to shut up yet?"

"That's a big ol' negative, sir!" Chopper shot back. "Nothing could ever shut me up!"

"That I don't doubt. Well that's two out of three," Bartlett answered, "so I guess that we've got the Kid and someone new in the other positions?"

"Negative," Snow answered, "I'm Capt. Snow, with the Naval Defense Force."

"And I'm Archer…uh, Sergeant Hans Grimm!"

"Captain Snow…ah! Now I remember! Callsign Swordsman. My ol' buddy Anderson has nothing but good things to say about you."

"Thank you sir!"

"And Hans Grimm. Well well, nice to see that you've got yourself a jet. I was thinking about bringing you into Wardog later anyway."

"Thanks sir!"

A new voice, a feminine voice, cut in. "So which one's your brightest student?" She asked. She had a distinctly Yuktobanian accent and Forrest wondered for a second who she was. Then he remembered about what Pops had said about some Yuke woman breaking Bartlett's heart back during the Belkan War. It was probably, he realized, the same woman that Pops had spoken of, the one who'd given Bartlett the nickname Heartbreak 1 in the first place.

"I don't know," Bartlett answered, clearly puzzled. "Hey! Kid didn't get shot down now did he?"

"No sir," Forrest answered, all but laughing, "I'm still here."

"Well then where the hell are you?" The other Captain demanded. Before the ace could answer, the radio erupted with gunfire and Forrest spotted crimson red tracer rounds flying in two different directions, flickering and dancing, some skipping off rocks and tumbling through the darkness. "Ah hell. Never mind. Hey!" Bartlett called back to his compatriots. "When are you guys going to wake up and smell the coffee!? Return fire!" Almost instantaneously, the fire coming from the humvees doubled as machine and miniguns came to life, spilling a wall of hot lead that gutted the resistance from the Yuke forces.

"There's too many of them!" One man howled as more spilled out of the compound.

"Aw shut up," Bartlett snapped back. He turned to his driver. "Run the gate over!" The driver blanched, but stepped on the gas, the engine roaring to new levels as the vehicle leaped forward, barreling right towards the gate, made of solid iron bars, formidable and deadly looking, but the humvee smashed right through in a screech of metal on metal, one gate flying clear from its hinges into the darkness.

The convoy rumbled on.

"Well that's one way to make an entrance," Chopper chuckled.

"Hey shut it," Bartlett retorted, "I didn't see you guys getting off your high and mighty horses to come and help out!"

"You didn't ask," Grimm replied brightly. The gruff Captain responded with a series of curses that would've singed the ears of a sailor, but just made the four original Wardog Squadron members laugh all the harder.

"Hey, looks like a pass up ahead," one driver said into his radio some minutes later. The pass he spoke of was the main dirt road and a longer, rougher road that would be akin to the high desert regions of the world. "Which one do we take?"

"The shorter one, obviously," Bartlett replied. He hefted the radio. "Hey, how about some air support!"

"On the way," Edge answered. "Razgriz, attack targets about five miles ahead."

As one the F-35s dove for the deck, four streaks of black against the steel blue sky. They were coming in close to super sonic, so by the time the Yukes realized who'd dropped the bombs on their heads, the fighters had already passed by, the tracers and bursts of flack popping well behind them. The triple-A was cut short when the convoy rolled through, automatic weapons singing, spitting streams of red lead killing everyone and every thing that wasn't behind cover yet.

"Thanks for that!" One of the convoy members whooped as his truck bounced and bumped over bodies and debris. The next station fell in a similar manner, the Razgriz bombing the place and the convoy mopping up any leftovers. They were just getting to one of the last checkpoints when a new voice, Sky Eye's, came over the radio.

"Bandit confirmed, vector 360," the controller called. "Looks like an AC-130." Almost on cue, the howitzer shells and shots from the other guns on the attack ship began landing around the convoy. Earth, sand, and rock flew everywhere. Screams filled the radio as one of the trucks took a hit from the Bofors gun on the Specter. The jeep went up in a fireball, throwing chunks of flaming metal and rubber across the barren landscape like rain. A second vehicle narrowly missed a similar fate, the howitzer round missing only by the narrowest of margins, the explosion and subsequent shockwave almost rolling the humvee, but some fast work by the driver kept it upright and on track.

"Hey! We're getting shot to pieces down here!" Bartlett yelled. Forrest turned in his seat just in time to catch the strobe of another howitzer round.

"I see him. Hang on." The General's Raptor stood on a wing and pulled hard, cutting across the sky like a bird, rolling out right on track to intercept the aircraft. Forrest's fingers danced on the HOTAS, locking up the bandit in only seconds. The range was too close for an AMRAAM shot, so Forrest threw the switch to kick over to the dogfight mode. The growl tone was loud and constant in his headset. "Fox Two!"

The Sidewinder leaped from the side bay, burning across the sky like a flare. The flare vanished as the rocket motor on the missile burned out, the weapon coasting towards its target like a silent reaper.

An explosion lit the sky. Blaze caught sight of a slab of black with two nubs on it, a wing and its two engines he realized, fluttering away from the Specter, the aircraft itself falling towards the earth, left wing missing, and the entire side of the assault ship wreathed in angry orange flames and oily black smoke. "Splash one!" The ace called as he reversed his turn, dropping flares as a precaution. Ships like the Specter were always accompanied by at least one escort and he didn't want to get some heat-seeker up the ass. Stealth did wonders to hide his craft from radar. Heat was another story.

"Alright!" Bartlett crowed. "We're at the airport!" Below the convoy blasted onto the compound and began tearing its way up the runway, while sections of the column split off and began going up the taxiways, getting to the hangars in record time. The humvees stopped and men began to pour out, dashing into the hangars one after another, probably clearing it with gunfire and grenades like some video game, then moving onto the next one. The fighter wing began to circle, providing top cover until they could extract the Prime Minister.

"I've been listening in on the enemy's radio chatter," Sky Eye said suddenly. "They've sealed off the roads. You won't be able to get out the same way." He hadn't been present and the briefing and therefore didn't know about the C-130

"That's alright," Bartlett answered quickly. "I've already got us a way out of here."

"We have him!" One team crowed. "We have Nikanor!"

"Hey!" Bartlett snapped. "If you have time to tell us then you have time to get his ass over here! So move it!"

"Y…Yes sir!"

A small knot of cars drove from one end of the airfield to another, guns flashing. It was too surreal, Forrest decided, watching the battle from high above, with the lights and smoke from explosions. He knew it should be loud and raucous, but even more disquieting was the utter silence with which he and the others watched.

"New contacts on radar," Sky Eye cautioned. "They just appeared. Better be careful."

"How far out are they?" Forrest asked.

"About a hundred miles, but they're moving at supersonic speeds."

The ace did a quick mental calculation. "Great. Five minutes at best. Hey! Captain Bartlett! We've got inbounds, so hurry up!"

"Roger that. Nikanor's on the plane now and we're just warming up the engines."

"Well warm faster," Chopper shouted. "We're not all outfitted for air to air up here!"

* * *

Four minutes and thirty seconds later, a C-130 rolled out the end of the runway as tracer rounds plinked away at it. "Leaving in the the Herc now?" Edge asked. "He can't be serious! With bandits right here?"

"Bogeys now entering combat area," Sky Eye said calmly.

"Shit we have no choice. Mobius 1 engage!" He rolled into a turn and held it until he was going to merge with the enemy targets, then rolled out. "Here we go."

"Right behind you Boss," Eddie said quickly as Mobius 2, 3, and 4 joined up with him and spread out, taking positions across the sky, all ready and primed to fire.

"Then let's do it! All craft, you are free to fire!"

"2 Copy!"

"3 Roger!"

"4 Roger!"

"Mobius Bravo, Razgriz, cover Capt. Bartlett as he exits the combat area!"

"Gotcha."

"Roger Blaze!"

The eight other aircraft began flying protective circles around the slow moving transport.

Bartlett let out a loud whoop of joy. "Hello sky! I'm coming home!"

Forrest hardly heard. He was busy focusing on the enemies in front of him, which his IFF had just tagged as Grabacr. "Well, here we go. Let's go play with the Belkans."

"Time for some grabass with Grabacr!" Eddie chuckled. It was a four on four fight, with each fighter squaring off with his counterpart. In the swirling mayhem, Mobius made sure that Grabacr couldn't get a shot off at the retreating C-130, which was whipping over plateaus and mesas down on the deck, Bartlett's flying at its best.

"These guys are screwing everything up!" One of the Grabacr guy shouted. "How much longer are we gonna have to put up with their bullshit? Didn't you hear how they fucked up everything for Ofnir?"

"Quiet," the lead replied coldly. "Fly well and do your duty and they will fall just like the rest. With any luck, even the ISAF will get drawn into this war and we'll have a big old World War III to have fun in."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Forrest snarled as he pulled a fast maneuver. The Grabacr F-15 Advanced on his tail overshot and went speeding out in front of him. The cannon came to life, but the F-15 plugged in his afterburners the second he overshot and pulled away. "Fine. Mobius 1, Fox Two!" Forrest's last Sidewinder shot out in front of him and began pulling lead on the target. The F-15 saw it too late and actually rolled into the onrushing missile. A mere second before the aircraft exploded, the canopy was thrown clear and the ejection seat blasted out. Brian rolled over and dove, both to regain speed and to try and find any potential hostiles that thought they would be funny and bounce him from below.

"These guys are really starting to piss me off!" Yeager growled, loosing a Sidewinder of his own. The F-15 that was his target evaded it, but didn't react in time to the second one that impacted a second later. The older pilot had ripple fired his two Sidewinders to ensure a hit. "Let's finish them and be done with it!" He buzzed the pilot, who'd ejected at the last second and pulled up to rejoin with Zivi as Forrest arrived off Eddie's wing and joined his number two in the hot pursuit of another craft.

Only thirteen seconds later, both aircraft were headed down, the pilots safely in their parachutes.

"We won't forget this," the leader of Grabacr vowed over the open channel as the four victorious Mobius Alpha Raptors pulled away to link up with their comrades. "Count on it, Ribbons."

"I wouldn't want you to," Forrest answered. "Remember it all you want, so you won't be as easy to step on the next time around." He switched over again before the Grabacr could reply. He really couldn't explain why he'd said that, but for some reason, the pilots of that formation just grated on his nerves like nothing else in the world could. Maybe it was because they were the only squadron he'd ever had to run from when he had the skill to beat them.

The flight back was light hearted, with the pilots bantering back and forth with each other, catching up with Bartlett and generally being rowdy. They had good reason to too. They'd just helped to rescue another leader of one of the countries involved in the war. All that was left now was to get Nikanor together with the Osean President and the war would be called off and peace could be restored once again.

"This is it," Forrest muttered to himself. "It's the endgame."

* * *

The former members of Wardog, except for Forrest, lost no time in dashing to the flight deck after they landed, where Bartlett was standing, waiting for them. It was a nice little reunion, with laughter, and back-slapping going on all around. Chopper had even found a bottle of wine in the ship's stores, so that went around to all the pilots and people on deck. Forrest shook his head. He was down on the ramp of the airfield, looking over the Raptors, making sure nothing was seriously wrong with them for the next sortie. Even from his distant position, he could hear the laughing and shouting going on.

"So you are the legendary Mobius 1?" Asked a voice from behind him. Forrest turned around. It was Nikanor, who'd snuck away from the festivities on the flight deck with the quiet ease of a politician accustomed to leaving parties and gala events without being noticed. Forrest snapped up a quick salute, which the PM of Yuktobania returned.

"Yes sir. Major General Brian Forrest at your service sir."

The PM looked puzzled. "Why are you here, General Forrest and not with your comrades up on the flight deck."

Forrest waved a hand at the eight F-22s behind him. "Just checking over some last minute details. I can never sleep with any degree of ease until I've given my plane a good thorough post-flight inspection."

"It seems like you do not trust your patience crew," Nikanor said.

"It's not that, sir," the ace replied. "It's just my own paranoia." He tossed one final gaze over the sleek gray craft and nodded. "I guess it was unnecessary."

"Perhaps, but one that is done in good sense. Would you be so kind as to walk with me back to the festivities?"

"My pleasure, sir."

The two started off across the cold tarmac together. "I would like to thank you, General Forrest," Nikanor said without preamble. "I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever get out of that dingy closet of a cell that my captors put me in."

"President Harling said pretty much the same thing," Forrest replied with a grin.

"Never the less," the other said in return. "My appreciation and thanks are very much heartfelt. I have already met the other members of your crew, but you were not among them. The woman in your formation said that I would probably find you where I did."

"Kei," Forrest said fondly. "Well she does know me pretty well. So was that all you wanted to do? Just thank me?"

"Yes," Nikanor answered as they reached the gangway and began to ascend it. It led to the Andromeda, who was in turn moored alongside and connected with the Kestrel. "Well, I must say there was a little curiosity on my part as well. We have all heard of the legendary feats of the famous Mobius 1. I know the mere mention of your callsign in my government gives my commanders fits when they think about pitting our air force against you."

"It's not just me. Even though I flew alone and did my own thing, I was always surrounded by other pilots. I watched their back and they watched mine."

"As it should be. I am surprised at how young you are, though. I would've expected someone much closer to Captain Bartlett's age."

"Well, I was younger when the war broke out. I was twenty or twenty-one, I can't really remember. But I had a good teacher and flying has always come naturally to me."

"Indeed?" They crested the gangway onto the Kestrel's deck. Nikanor turned to the ace, holding out a hand. "Well, General Forrest, I shall allow you to get reacquainted with the good Captain. I have some matters of some urgency I must discuss with Capt. Anderson and Mr. Beagle."

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Nikanor," Forrest answered, clasping the hand. He was surprised by the grip. It was strong and firm, like a block of iron, and the PM's hand was calloused, as if he spent a lot of time working a field, and on a fairly regular basis.

"Then I will be seeing you later." The PM departed, but not before tapping Bartlett on the shoulder and motioning in Forrest's direction. The grizzled captain turned and smirked.

"Get over here, you conniving bastard," the former Wardog commander called. He put Forrest into a headlock the second the ace was in range. "I oughta kick your scrawny little ass for pulling a fast one like that on us."

"So Kei and them told you huh?"

"Sure did. Told me the whole damned tale." He poked the two black stars on his shoulders. "Son of a bitch, that means I gotta start calling you sir instead of Kid now huh?"

"That didn't stop me," Chopper put in.

Bartlett snapped his fingers. "I know! How about we call you Sir Kid! That'll work."

"Gee you're so kind," Forrest shot back as the rest of the wing busted up at his expense. "Drop and give me fifty."

The other ace answered by snapping up a crooked left hand salute and crossed his eyes. "Yes sir, General Sir Kid sir!" He hit the deck and did about five push-ups on his knees.

"Wise ass."

"That's what they tell me," Bartlett answered, standing.

"Yes but a man without a sense of humor is so boring," said a new voice. It was a woman, who'd been standing over near the helicopters watching. She pulled off her mirrored aviators to reveal a beautiful face. Forrest blinked, wondering where he'd heard her voice before, then realized it was the woman he'd heard over the radio that morning, when they'd gone into the operation. She held out a hand. "You may call me Natashya. I am Prime Minister Nikanor's personal assistant."

"Brian Forrest."

"Of course," she said with an enigmatic smile. Forrest, as a man, realized instantly why Bartlett had fallen for her. He flinched as he noticed Kei's disapproving glare and released his grip on the woman's hand maybe a hair faster than was prudent. "Your reputation precedes you, General."

"Reason number one why I went to Osea," he muttered.

"What ever the reason," she said seriously, "I'm glad that you are here. I have a mission for you all, one that could very well require your skills, Mobius 1." She held up a disk that hung from the chain of her dog tags. "It's on here and I shall show it to you tonight. It may very well be your final mission."

"Why not now?" Edge asked.

"You have not seen Jack in such a very long time," she said. "I'm sure that you would like to catch up with him, so I can wait until tonight." With that, she turned and walked through the hatch of the island and was gone.

"Aww man," Chopper fumed. "I hate long waits!"

* * *

It's been long in coming, full of false starts and constant promises, but I did say that I would get this chapter up and there you have it, I have. With any luck, I'll be able to get the rest of the chapters knocked out pretty soon and we can all have a big old celebration at the end, because it's just as Forrest said earlier in the chapter. We are now in the End Game. Four more chapters, the fleet attack, the strike on the SOLG command center, the killing of the SOLG itself, then an epilogue to wind it all down and I will be done with The Ultimate Ace. It's close but still a ways off, so I will see you all next chapter!

~WingedFreedom622


End file.
